


Lost

by SeventyAndSunny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Original Character Death(s), Scott is a Bad Friend, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Swears, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventyAndSunny/pseuds/SeventyAndSunny
Summary: It’s been seven years since Stiles has stepped foot in Beacon Hills, and everything is basically the same:1. His dad is still sheriff2. Scott is still an asshole3. Derek Hale is still painfully confusing.But Stiles’ return shakes the town, and leaves people with questions. Where has he been this whole time? Why is he back? And when did he become a dad?





	1. Part One: Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic has basically controlled my life ever since the whole thing with the chimeras and Donovan. I've been writing this fic for literal years, and I've finally gotten it to the point where I can start posting things. I had wanted to post it in one long fic, but it's really long, so I'm posting it in parts. More tags will be added later.

Stiles has his body bent backwards, his back stretched across the hood of his car, as he tries desperately to inch himself away from the werewolf. The man has his arms cemented around Stiles’ wrists, his body a wall between Stiles and an open, empty highway and his teeth dancing on the bit of exposed flesh on Stiles’ neck.

Stiles isn't really sure how he got here. 

But he's almost ninety percent certain that this isn't his fault. 

He feels the teeth like push pins on his skin, punching holes in his taut flesh. Blood trickles down, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He feels the wolf lick it up. He isn't sure if he should gag or cry.

“Woah, hey there. _Buddy._ C’mon now. Take a guy to dinner first,” he sputters, trying to keep his tone an even stream of sarcasm and calmness. He knows his heart is pounding, though, and worst of all, he knows the wolf _knows_.

He feels the man smile around his fangs, feels the way it makes his teeth shift and drag across his skin, and shudders as the man hoarsely whispers, “I'm going to take my time with you.”

There's no way now for Stiles to hide the shift in his scent. Even he can smell the desperation and fear and sweat hot in the air. He tries once again the wrangle his wrists out of the grasp, but the wolf clenches harder, and Stiles is met with a sharp pain as bones start to break.

His heart jumps with alarm and he gasps with the pain. He bites down hard on his lip, praying desperately that he wasn't too loud, but the click of a car door opening tells him he was.

The werewolf looks surprised, his eyes widening as he lets go of Stiles and moves to see what is coming out of the car. He sniffs, his furry nose twitching, and Stiles can see him trying to process why he only smelt Stiles.

“Papa?” A small, scratchy voice asks, and Stiles watches, terrified, as the werewolf's face shifts from surprise to pleasure.

“A child?” He asks, his voice light with excitement. The wolf moves, shuffling away from Stiles and towards where his son is now standing next to the SUV. Stiles doesn't hesitate, his hand working the knife out of his belt loop as his son screams at the advancing enemy.

“Eli, get in the car!” Stiles yells and he pounces, bringing the knife above his head and jabbing it down into the fatty part of the werewolf’s shoulder. The wolf reels back, smashing Stiles in between his car and himself. Stiles can't breathe, but he has succeeded in distracting the wolf long enough for Eli to scamper back into the car, so he counts it as a success.

The wolf twists around, bringing a claw filled hand around Stiles’ neck, his eyes a steely blue. “You're feistier than I thought,” he growls, and he squeezers just enough so that Stiles has to sputter for air. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Me too,” Stiles manages to get out, and he brings up his second knife. The werewolf catches sight of the movement a moment too late, and Stiles buries the blade into the man’s chest.

The wolf chokes, falling backwards a few steps, and staring at Stiles like he never expected him to be able to do something like that. Stiles watches him closely. He has a feeling in his gut telling him that the wolf is going to tear out the knife and rip Stiles’ throat out, and he’s scared. He doesn’t want his son to watch this wolf spread his insides across the pavement, doesn’t want to know what he’ll do to Eli once Stiles is out of the way, doesn’t want to think about everything ending right here, on a stretch of highway a hundred miles away from Beacon Hills.

The werewolf never pounces again. He retreats back into the woods, leaving a trail of black blood behind him, and a desperate howl that Stiles can _feel._ He's an omega, Stiles knows no one else will come until after the wolf is dead, but he can't shake the feeling that he's going to die.

Maybe it's the town, these woods, the nemeton. Maybe it's the small child sitting in his backseat, his eyes watering, his whole body shaking with his little sniffs. Maybe it's just Stiles. He's been told that he's overly paranoid.

He walks back around the car. His ribs are throbbing, and easing himself back into the driver’s seat takes a few minutes. He can't bend his left wrist, he's left with a jolt every time he tries, but he manages to wrap his right hand around his steering wheel. Then, he looks up into his rearview mirror, catching the gaze of his son. Stiles smiles. “Don't worry little guy, the bad man’s gone now.”

“Are you okay?” Eli asks, his voice full of tears.

Stiles nods his head. He wants to reach around and grab his kid, wants to ruffle his soft, brown hair and suffocate him in a deep hug, but he isn't really sure his ribs will manage that. So, instead, he asks, “wanna go see grandpa?”

Eli doesn't look convinced. He has his lip between his teeth, his face bright red with concern, but he hunkers back down into his booster seat anyways. Stiles starts back on their journey.

?

_There's an ache in his shoulder, and at first Stiles doesn't remember why. His mind is foggy, but his body moves instinctively forward, and soon Scott's form comes into view._

_“You killed Donovan?”_

_Stiles stills, his mind suddenly catching up with the situation. They're on a back alley somewhere in the business district of Beacon Hills, in between two buildings, on the edge of the shadows. Scott is across from him, staring at him like Stiles just killed his mother, and his heart starts to ache like his shoulder._

_“You don't understand-” he begins. His voice sounds small, like it did when he was five and trying to get out of doing the dishes._

_Scott steps forward, and the shadows land across his face. His eyes are dark. “Theo told me what happened Stiles,” he says._

_Stiles blinks. How would Theo know what happened?_

_“It wasn't that bad,” he begins, and his shoulder starts to pulse._

_“Wasn't that bad?” Scott repeats, sounding disgusted, “Stiles you_ killed _someone.”_

_“But-”_

_“Stiles,” Scott says, his voice low like a growl, “just go home. And don't worry about us anymore.”_

_Scott turns away, retreating into the darkness as Stiles stands there sputtering. His face feels wet, and he realizes between half sentences that he's crying, and he's all alone._

_He turns, heading back to his jeep, but suddenly his jeep isn't there. Suddenly the dark turns to light, and it's so bright it makes his eyes ache too, just like his shoulder and just like his heart._

_The light gets closer. Stiles feels his heart thunder in panic as a car horn blares._

Stiles jerks awake as the car passes by him, their horn echoing in his ears. He's groggy and confused, and his wrist is killing him, but he can make out his steering wheel, and his left shoulder hurts from where the seat belt dug in. He rubs at his face.

His dashboard reads 2 am, but he doesn't really remember when he stopped to rest. Somehow he had managed to pull his car to a stop a few miles shy of Beacon Hills, but he didn't pull the keys out, and his fuel tank reads almost empty. He groans, pushing his head into the headrest.

He's still anxious from the dream he just had, and from the werewolf in Nevada who tried to eat him, and now the idea of stopping for gas sits heavy in his gut. It's been a long time since he's dreamt of that night, and he's sure that there's only many more bad nights to come.

Stiles peers up into his rearview mirror, taking a long look at the still sleeping form buckled into his booster seat. His head is bent down, his chin resting against his chest, his chocolate brown hair covering his face. Stiles smiles a little, and then pushes his car into drive.

There’s a gas station not far from here, and Stiles relies on his memories to weave his car there. He’s struck by how familiar the world is here, how his memories haven’t faded, he can still tell you how to get to the pool or the bowling alley or the sheriff station, even after seven years gone. He’s struck by the warm feeling in his gut, spreading into his chest, and he forgets about his possibly snapped wrist, because he’s too overwhelmed by the feeling of _home._

No. He shakes himself as he pulls into the gas station. This town isn’t home. It hasn’t been for a long time, and maybe the memories are messing with his heart, but he isn’t dumb. He’s here for a reason.

He pulls out his credit card and starts the pump, and as the fuel fills his car, he leans back and takes in the sight of the thick lines of trees surrounding him. When he was little, his mother would tell him stories about those woods. Stories about magic and mystery and love and hope, and Stiles wonders if he’ll tell Eli one day. Her fairy tales are nothing like the hell he ended up living in those woods, and he wonders if he’d even be able to remember the happy endings his mother always whispered to him.

He tilts his head up, closing his eyes. He sucks in a long, slow, breath. The air in Beacon Hills has always been different from anywhere Stiles has been. It’s cold and clear and smells faintly of rain and grass. Stiles wonders what Eli will think, finally being somewhere where everything doesn’t smell like gas and pollution.

Once the pump clicks, and his receipt prints, Stiles continues on towards his father’s house.

Beacon Hills builds itself around Stiles. First, there’s a line of houses, scattered on the very edge of the city. Then the neighborhood turns into downtown, with tall apartment buildings and little coffees shops. He turns off before he hits the main drag, and continues down a neighborhood full of cute, cookie cutter houses.

He turns into his father house and watches the way his headlights paint the building. The house is dark, and his father’s cruiser is missing from its usual spot. Stiles wonders if his father has started parking in the driveway, or if he got called into the station. He isn’t sure he wants to do this alone. He doesn’t want to enter the house. He doesn’t want to feel his memories like ghosts, haunting his brain, filling him with guilt and fear and grief. Maybe he can turn around. Maybe he can just head back to Massachusetts, take his son and forget about this whole thing.

Eli shifts in his booster, and Stiles remembers that they’ve been driving for twenty hours straight. Eli needs a bed, and probably a bathroom.

So Stiles turn his car off. He works fast, because if he doesn’t, he’ll chicken out.

Before going to his son, Stiles opens the hatch on his SUV, and digs through his duffle bags and suitcases until he finds Eli’s back pack. There’s PJs in there, and a coloring book, and the box of hot chocolate Eli made him buy at a 7-11 in Montana. He slings it over his shoulder, and then carefully opens his son’s door.

Eli hasn’t slept in days, and Stiles blames himself. Eli has never been the type to sleep in a car. He’s always been too busy looking out the windows, talking in awe about the things he sees.

_“Look, Papa, a reallife_ cow _”_ or _“Look at all the clouds, like big, fat, marshmallows in the sky.”_

It was a dumb idea to drive straight through, but Stiles couldn’t bear renting a hotel room, couldn’t bear the thought of him and Eli curled on one side of the queen bed, while the other side stayed empty.

Stiles reaches carefully into the car, hoping he doesn’t wake his son up as he hoists him out of the seat. It’s an awkward reach, and his wrist throbbing, but he manages to get Eli bent over his shoulder before he wakes up. Eli breathes softly into his ear. Stiles smiles. He hugs Eli close and kicks the door shut behind him.

Stiles still has his key on his keyring. He had kept it as a reminder of his father, and a reminder of where he came from. He never thought he’d actually get a chance to use it again, and he almost worries that the key will no longer fit. After all, Stiles no longer fits.

The key slides in easy, and the door opens with a sigh. The hallway is dark, but Stiles can still trace the steps to his bedroom. When he opens the door, he’s surprised to see his desk and bed and clothes all still set up. It’s like his father had closed the room the day Stiles left, and never opened it again.

The sheets are clean. His dad must’ve been in here. He must’ve tried to clean up, once he heard Stiles and Eli were coming. Stiles is thankful as he lays Eli down.

The boy smiles sleepily, and snuggles into the soft sheets. Stiles take his shoes and throws them at the door. Then, he tucks his sweet shirt over his son, kisses him on the nose, and heads back out into the hall.

His father’s room is only a few feet down the hall. Stiles peers into it, squinting in the dark. The sheets are pulled tight over the bed, and the bathroom door is open. Stiles then heads to the kitchen, and he finds a note taped onto the table.

_Had to go to the station,_

_There’s pizza in the fridge_

_Call me when you get here_

_Love, dad._

Stiles smiles, but it’s hard and sad. He goes to the coffee machine, feeling around the kitchen in the dark, fills it with coffee beans before he even thinks about pulling out his cellphone.

Once his coffee has started to sputter into the pot, Stiles dials his dad’s number.

“Are you at the house?” His dad asks the second he picks up.

Stiles smiles a small smile, “Yeah.”

“God Stiles,” his dad says, his voice full of stress, “I was so worried when you said you were driving straight from Utah. You should've been there hours ago.”

“Yeah,” he says, sheepishly, “we may have taken a little bit of a nap on the side of the road.”

There's a tense silence, and then his dad is speaking in a sharp tone, “Stiles.”

“I know.” He understands the danger. He knows better than anyone what lurks in the night. And they were attacked by a werewolf, for god’s sake. Stiles doesn’t even know how he ended up on the side of the road.

“I might have to ground you,” his dad says slowly. His voice is teetering between seriousness and joking. Mostly he sounds tired.

Stiles huffs, “I'm twenty-five years old.”

His dad laughs, “that doesn't make a difference, son.”

Stiles runs a hand through his outgrown hair. Maybe he does need a parent right now. “How late are you working?”

“I went in around ten. I'll try to be home around eight but we have a pretty heavy case right now.”

Stiles can feel something deep inside him perk up, and if he was 16 he knows he'd beg his dad for details. But he's not a kid anymore, and he doesn't really want to get involved in anything Beacon Hills related. “Okay.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, and his voice is full of understanding, “I remember how it felt when your mother died, I know what you're going through. If you wanna talk-”

“Sorry dad,” Stiles says sharply, “but I don't.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He doesn’t want to think about what tomorrow morning is going to be like, when Eli wakes up, and for a moment forgets that it’s just him and Stiles now. He doesn’t want to watch his son’s face crumble, just like it has every morning for the last week. He doesn’t want his dad to treat him like a problem, treat him like this is some textbook grief moment. He just wants everything to disappear.

“Well,” his dad says, slowly, “Tara dropped off some donuts at the office. I’ll sneak you and Eli one, and I’ll try to be home as soon as I can. Try to get some sleep, son.”

Stiles smiles. “Okay,” he says, and then adds, “Thank you, dad.”

It’s more than just a thank you for the donuts, or for changing the subject, or even for letting him show up after seven years with a kid. It’s a thank you for everything Stiles has ever needed him for, and for every time his father has been there.

“I love you, son,” His dad says.

“I love you, dad,” Stiles says, tears burning his eyes, and he hangs up.

He sits in the silence of the kitchen for a long time. He isn’t thinking, for the first time in a week, and it feels nice. He feels the tension in his shoulders release, and his wrist is starting to go numb. He should probably go to a doctor, but that would require pulling Eli out of bed.

Headlights dancing across the room pulls Stiles out of his moment of nothingness. He drops onto the floor before the light reaches him, and presses himself instinctually against the cupboards. His heart is pounding, and his hand aches to grab for his knife. He remembers with a jolt that it’s buried in a werewolf somewhere in Nevada, and he hastily reaches into the drawer for a new one.

He listens, as more sets of headlights fill the house. There’s the sound of tires against gravel, and the hum of a car that quickly cuts off. After a moment, the headlights flicker off, but Stiles isn’t stupid enough to think they’ve left.

He edges towards the front door, dancing through the shadows of the house. He’s quiet, his breath low and shallow, his movements short and deliberate. He makes it to the door in time to see a group of people emerging from three cars.

There’s the obvious leader, with broad shoulders and toned muscles. He’s grown in more than just body, his whole stance shows his leadership of the pack. He steps towards the Stilinski house with no hesitation, and when the light from the street light runs across his face, Stiles tenses. His eyes are still soft and brown, and Stiles knows there’s a monster in there.

He's followed closely by a smiling coyote and a girl with candy colored hair. Stiles watches the two girls, the women who were once the loves of his life, and he feels an odd sense of regret. He could’ve had a good life with either one of them, but instead, he’s on the other side of the door as the McCall pack advances.

Parrish is hovering towards a deputy cruiser. His uniform is dirty and wrinkled, and Stiles thinks he must’ve just gotten off. He looks uncomfortable, and Stiles is sure it’s because they’re about to break into his boss’ house.

The last of the group is the one that takes Stiles by surprise, the one that leaves him on the edge of a panic attack, sucking all his breath from inside him. Derek Hale looks timeless, just like he looks in all of Stiles’ memories. Stiles had never expected to see him again, not after he disappeared in Mexico, following his girlfriend on the demon that murdered his family. Stiles has to look away. He presses his back against the door, twisting the deadbolt, and runs through his breathing exercises.

When he gets his nerves under control, he steals another look out the window. The pack is advancing slowly, and right now they’re surrounding his SUV, peering into the windows and talking quietly amongst themselves. Stiles can’t hear them. He doesn’t have the benefit of super hearing, but it doesn’t take much to figure out what they’re saying.

Parrish yells something from the cruiser, and the rest of the pack turn back towards the front door.

Scott steps up onto the front stoop, Malia right next to him. Lydia and Derek hang back, talking amongst each other. Scott reaches for the doorbell, and Stiles reacts fast, because a doorbell with definitely wake his son. As much as he hadn’t wanted to have this confrontation tonight, he’s more worried about his son getting a full nights rest.

He flings open the door, forcing himself to give off an air of control and arrogance. Scott freezes, his hand just a few inches away from the doorbell, and there’s a moment of confused silence.

It’s almost embarrassing, Stiles thinks. The way the McCall pack is looking at him, with their mouths hanging in complete shock, their eyes wide. Even Lydia, who seems to know everything, is at a loss for words.

Stiles doesn’t have time for this.

“Yo,” he says, leaning one shoulder against the door frame, “Can I help you folks with something?”

“Oh my God,” Malia says, and she turns towards Scott. “What the hell?”

Lydia takes a step forward, her eyes narrowed as she takes Stiles in. He knows he looks like absolute shit. His wrist is red and purple, and his eyes are probably blood shot. He doesn’t even want to think about how he probably smells. “We thought you were a hunter,” She says, though Stiles can tell there’s more on the tip of her tongue.

“Yeah,” he says, sheepishly. Then he hardens his voice, “That’s why I bought that model. Trying to keep fuzzy bastards like you away.”

There’s a tension that rolls through the pack. It starts with Scott tensing his shoulders, then Malia curls her fingers into her hand, and Lydia takes a wounded step back. The group exchanges glances, and then Scott is stepping towards him.

“Stiles,” he says, coming into the doorway. It’s closer than Stiles is comfortable with, and he takes a step back into the house. Scott notices, and halts. “You’ve been gone seven years. We thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles says, and he doesn’t even try to sound remotely apologetic. “Now that you see that I’m not dead, I’d appreciate it if you left.”

Scott reaches out, saying Stiles’ name like he’s begging Stiles for something. Panic bubbles in Stiles’ chest, and he steps back again, grabbing at his knife. He knows it’s stupid, he knows Scott wouldn’t hurt him, not in the middle of his father’s house, at least, but it’s three in the morning and Stiles hasn’t slept in a week and he is not ready to deal with this.

Scott never makes contact. Instead, a ball of fuzz goes sprinting by Stiles, growling and spitting as it puts itself between Stiles and the advancing wolf. A set of tiny claws reaches up towards the alpha, and Scott steps quickly back, shock painting his face. Malia doesn’t hesitate like Scott, and Stiles doesn’t know if she doesn’t realize it’s a child or if she just doesn’t care. Her eyes turn a shiny blue, and she swings a claw filled hand towards his son.

“No!” Stiles yells, and plunges forward, covering his son, and taking the full impact of Malia’s attack. Eli squeals. Stiles feels his side open up, and his shirt is warm with blood, but Eli is okay.

He pushes his son behind him into the house. He has his body still between the McCall pack and his son, and Stiles hears Scott pulling Malia away from them. She’s apologizing, but Stiles doesn’t care.

“Elliot James,” Stiles hisses, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Eli has wide, watery eyes, and his wolf quickly melts away from his face. He’s shaking, and feeling at Stiles’ shirt. “They’re wolves,” he cries, “Pawpaw, I was protecting you.”

Stiles feels a warmth in his chest, and he can’t help but peck his son on the nose. “I protect you, little pup,” He whispers. “Go back to bed.”

Eli’s eyes are on the wound in Stiles’ side. He wants to argue. Stiles can tell, but he slowly makes his way down the hallway.

Only once his son is out of sight does Stiles turn back towards the pack. All polite conversation is off. All polite everything is off. Stiles has hard eyes and tense shoulders, and he’s gripping the knife in his hand.

“Stiles,” Malia cries from where she’s being held back by Parrish, “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, because what she did is unforgivable. “I fucked up,” he says, looking Scott in the eyes. “I brought a werewolf onto your territory without requesting permission. But unless you’re here to tell me that I can’t bring my son to see his grandfather, then I suggest you leave.”

“Stiles,” Scott says, holding his hands up in surrender. “What-”

“Does Eli have to leave?” He asks.

“Of course not,” Scott answers, and before he can say anything else, Stiles slams the door closed.


	2. Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I honestly am not going to commit to posting chapters every other day, but I had time to edit so here it is.

_It's been a month since Stiles has spoken to Scott, three weeks since the last time Lydia has answered any of his texts, even longer since Malia has even looked at him. He doesn't know how much more he can take._

_He sees them everyday at school. They talk low so he can't hear, but he knows they're making plans for after high school. Their math teacher has Lydia's MIT acceptance letter on display in their classroom. Mrs. McCall told his dad Scott was going to vet school. She asked what Stiles was doing, but his dad didn't know the answer._

_Stiles spends his eighteenth birthday alone, sipping his father's whiskey, eating a cake he bought from the grocery store. His father was too busy working on Donovan's missing persons case._

_It's between sips that Stiles realizes that once his father knows the truth, he won't want Stiles anymore. He had always been raised under strict morals, and murder wasn't something his father could overlook. Once his father turns away from him, Stiles won't have anyone._

_Maybe it was a drunken mistake. Maybe if he had thought about it once he was sober, he would've realized how dumb he was. It wasn't murder, it was self defense. But Stiles was riding on a wave of self despair and depression, and he decided he needed to leave Beacon Hills._

?

Stiles cleans his wound with a bottle of alcohol. He dabs a little on a wash cloth and then takes a swig, feeling the drink warm his insides and dull the pain. Eli is watching cartoons on the couch, his little body curled into a blanket, his eyes blinking opened and closed. It’s been two hours since the McCall pack first arrived, and they have yet to leave. They’re just hovering in the driveway, talking amongst each other.

He wraps the claw marks with some bandages, and falls next to his son on the couch, snuggling close to the wolf. Eli sighs, and finally closes his eyes for good, falling into a peaceful sleep.

Stiles wants to sleep, too. He can feel his body relaxing, his eyes closing, his breath leveling out, but he forces himself awake. He can’t sleep with the McCall pack out there. Not when he knows the nightmares will come. The last thing he needs is for them to sense weakness.

He must fall asleep, because there’s a knock on the door, and he opens his eyes, and the clock says it’s almost 8. He sits up quickly, trying to see if the pack is still there. There’s only one car outside, a sleek, black, Camaro, and Stiles moves towards the door.

He opens it, and comes face to face with Derek Hale. It’s the first time in eight years that they’ve seen each other, but Stiles’ knees still go weak at the sight of him. This may be an inappropriate time for his crush on Derek Hale to come back full force.

Derek is looking at him with wide eyes, like he wasn’t expecting Stiles to still be here. Maybe he thought last night was a dream. Stiles was really hoping that it all was.

“Stiles,” he says, and it isn’t fair. Hearing his name on Derek’s lips, bring Stiles back to being sixteen and hopelessly in love.

“What do you want, Derek?” He asks, because he’s tired and he’s angry and he’s not dumb enough to think that Derek showing up at 8 in the morning is a good idea.

Derek shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Can I come in?” He finally asks, after a few tense moments of silence.

Stiles looks over his shoulder. Eli is still asleep on the couch. He has his nose buried into his blanket, and he’s making soft murmurs. Stiles sighs, and steps away from the door, giving Derek enough room to pass through.

Derek pauses once he gets inside, staring at Eli. It makes Stiles uncomfortable, so he shuts and locks the door, and yanks Derek into the kitchen. Derek goes over to the table, easing into a chair like it’s something he does every day. Maybe it is. Stiles wouldn’t know.

Stiles busies himself with making a fresh pot of coffee. He’s giving Derek time to his thoughts together, because apparently the five hours he waited outside of his house wasn’t enough. He turns to stare at Derek as the machine starts to sputter out dark water.

“How have you been?” Derek asks politely, and Stiles snorts. Derek knows how he’s been. He can probably smell the reek of death and grief and sadness.

“What do you want?” He repeats, his voice probably harder than it should be.

Derek sighs, and he looks over into the living room. Stiles knows he can’t see Eli from this angle, but it still makes his skin crawl.

“Your son…” Derek says, “Elliot. He’s a werewolf.”

“Oh wow,” Stiles says, faking a sigh of relief, “I’m glad you still have keen observation skills. I was worried I was going to have to explain to you what glowing eyes and sharp, baby canines mean.”

Derek huffs, and gives Stiles a look of utter annoyance. “Well, where’s his pack?” Derek says, and Stiles narrows his eyes, because it’s a challenge.

Everything this last week has been a challenge. Every creature they’ve run across has asked why Eli smells like an omega, asked why it was just the two of them, asked how a human expects to raise a werewolf. Stiles is tired of it.

“In a hole in Washington,” Stiles growls, and it has enough force that Derek actually leans back. “His mother died when a hunter decided to pump her full of wolfsbane, and I’ve been spending every moment since trying to give him a good life.”

Derek tries again, holding his palms out towards Stiles, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like-”

“I know exactly how you meant it,” Stiles says, “You’re here on behalf of Scott. I’m not dumb enough to think that this isn’t about him.”

“Scott isn’t your enemy,” Derek tries, and he’s standing now, coming towards Stiles.

“No,” Stiles hisses, trying desperately to keep his voice low, but he’s angry and upset and Derek doesn’t have the right to do this to him, “You want to know the reason why Eli’s an omega? Because his mother’s pack burned right after he was born and my pack abandoned me. You weren’t here, Derek, so don’t pretend like you have any idea what happened.”

Derek halts, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. Stiles isn’t sure what shocked him the most, the fact that Stiles spoke so bluntly, or the fact that Stiles called him out on not being there when they needed him. Derek takes a step back, and he tilts his head down in thought.

Stiles looks into the living room. Eli is, thankfully, still asleep, and Stiles realizes just how exhausted his son must’ve been. His face flushes with guilt, and he quickly turns away from Derek. He pours himself a cup of coffee.

“He needs to learn control,” Derek says, quietly. Stiles almost misses it, but he feels the words hanging in the air.

“Scott isn’t going anywhere near my son,” Stiles says. It’s an invitation, a request for help, and Stiles hopes he’s making the right decision.

Stiles tilts his head towards Derek in time to see him nod. “Okay,” he says slowly, his eyes stuck on Stiles’ face. “I’ll do it.”

?

_“it's not that big a deal,” Derek says from somewhere behind him. He’s hanging halfway out of his hotel window, his legs dangling towards the city below. He’s staring at the open streets, a few people milling around short, clay buildings. “Jesus Stiles, it's not like I'm even needed in Beacon Hills anymore.”_

_“Don't worry, Derek,” He answers, “I get it, you wanna keep enjoying your Mexican sex fest with your girlfriend. No worries.”_

_“It's not that,” Derek says, and Stiles turns towards him. Derek is dirty, still covered in mud from their fight with Kate, and he looks tired. It’s a kind of tired that extends past his eyes, and Stiles can relate. “We're still trying to track Kate.”_

_“Seriously Derek,” Stiles says, “I don't care.”_

_Stiles does care, and both he and Derek know it. Stiles has been pretending for months that he isn’t in love with him, pretending that him and Malia are fine. Derek rejected him, after all, so there’s really no hope with that whole situation._

_Derek approaches him, setting a hand on his shoulder. “If you need me, Stiles, just call.”_

_“Don't worry.” He shrugs his hand off. “I won't.”_

?

Derek leaves with a head nod and a “good morning Sheriff,” once Stiles’ dad walks through the door. It’s almost like he’s sixteen again, and his dad still absolutely despises Derek, but the soft laugh his father gives to the retreating werewolf tells him that they’re probably friends.

His dad shakes his head, and drops a box of donuts onto the table. Stiles eyes them. “I thought you said you were only bringing one?”

His dad shrugs, innocently. “There’s a rumor going around town that my long-lost son has returned, so Mrs. Harrington dropped off a box of Marge’s donuts. Everyone at the station is asking when you’re going to visit.”

“Parrish,” Stiles mumbles, and his father shrugs.

He pours a new cup of coffee, and hands it to his father, who takes it gratefully. Stiles pops open the box, noticing that one donut is missing, and picks up a strawberry filled tart.

“Did you sleep?” His dad asks, and Stiles shrugs.

“A bit, I think,” he answers. When he looks up from his pastry, his father is staring at him, and Stiles huffs. “In case you didn’t hear, I was sort of surrounded by the things that howl at night. Would you have slept?”

His dad sighs. “I talked to Scott this morning. I told him not to do that again.”

Stiles isn’t sure what’s worse, the fact that his father still talks to Scott, or the fact that his father talked to Scott about _him._

“He also told me about Malia,” his dad says slowly, and Stiles’ eyes shift down to stare at his still bloody shirt. “What happened to your wrist?”

“Um,” Stiles says, because there’s no way he can tell his father they were attacked by a werewolf.

“We’re going to the hospital,” his dad says, setting his cup down onto the cupboard. Stiles wants to complain, but he kind of appreciates being taken care of. “Do you want to wake up my grandson, or should I?”

“Eli will probably bite you if you do it,” Stiles says. He grabs the box of donuts as he heads into the living room. He places it under his son’s nose, and watches as the child’s nose twitches, and then his brown eyes blink open.

“Papa?” He asks, tiredly, before his face breaks into a giant smile. “Donuts?”

Stiles pulls the box back as two greedy hands reach towards it. “First,” he says, holding up one finger, “You have to say thank you to grandpa for bringing them.”

Stiles watches as Eli looks around, his eyebrows furrowing. He takes in the unfamiliar living room, and then peers over the couch, looking at Stiles’ dad warily. “Grandpa?” He asks, slowly.

“Hi, bud,” his dad says, waving a hand at the little werewolf.

“You smell nice,” Eli says, and then adds, “thanks for the donuts.”

The sheriff laughs. “You’re welcome, buddy.”

Eli turns back to Stiles, and reaches again for the box of donuts. Stiles picks up a glazed one, and looks at Eli. “How about you go share this one with grandpa, while I go find us some clothes?” The child doesn’t look happy about sharing, but he takes the donut as Stiles hands it to him, and runs into the kitchen. Stiles nods at his dad, and he makes his way outside and to the back of his SUV.

Stiles should probably carry his luggage inside, but his side is throbbing and Mrs. Judy across the street is staring at him, her eyes wide like she’s just seen a ghost, and Stiles quickly pulls out new underwear and a shirt and jeans for both him and his son.

He places Eli’s clothes on the table, “I’m going to shower,” he says, and his father looks unsure about being left alone with a child that he just met. “Be nice to grandpa,” Stiles adds, trying to squash his father’s nerves.

Eli looks at him with a grin that says he won’t make any promises.

He showers quickly.

When he comes back down, his dad is on the floor with Eli, play wrestling and talking about the newest Spiderman, and Eli is saying that girls are icky but Mary Jane was kind of pretty and they’re both laughing and for the first time Stiles feels like he’s made the right decision.

When the two see him, his dad looks at Eli and says, “Do you want to ride in a real cop car?” And the look of awe on Eli’s face has Stiles laughing.

“Maybe grandpa will turn on the siren?” Stiles says, and Eli squeals. His dad glares at him from over the top of Eli’s head. The little pup springs off of the floor, running towards the door, yelling “last one there is a rotten egg,” over his shoulder. Stiles shakes his head, and watches as Eli sprints into the front yard.

“It’s amazing how much energy they have,” his father says, and Stiles nods.

?

The last time Stiles saw Melissa McCall, he was eighteen and she was congratulating him on graduating while Scott and Lydia and Malia stood off to the side. Walking into Beacon Hills hospital and seeing her at the front desk is just as awkward as that last meeting was. She still looks young, her brown hair fanned around her shoulders, and her brown eyes light up when she sees him.

She grabs him into a hug, and then pulls away when Stiles tenses in pain. “Let me see,” she says, pulling onto his shirt as his father walks up behind him, Eli kicking in his arms.

“Papa, grandpa, it stinks in here!” He howls, and Stiles looks over at him. “Can we leave? Can we leave, please?”

Melissa stills from where she’s looking over Stiles’ poor bandaging job, and pulls her eyes up to look at the child. She breaks into a huge grin. “Hello,” she says, “You must be Eli. Your grandpa has told me so much about you.”

“Really?” Eli asks, stilling in the sheriff’s arms.

“You know what he told me?” Melissa asks, and Eli leans in close, his eyes full of wonder. “He told me that you really really like suckers.”

Eli gasps. “I do really really like suckers.”

Melissa puts her lips together, looking thoughtful for a moment, and then she says, “do you think that if I gave you a sucker, you would be able to sit quietly while I look over your papa?”

Stiles isn’t really sure Eli will sit quietly, he’s not even sure his son is capable of that, but the child nods, his little head shaking his whole body, and Melissa laughs as she reaches around the desk and grabs a grape sucker. “My favorite!” Eli yells, and he looks over at Stiles’ dad like he’s the best person on the planet.

Melissa laughs as she takes Stiles down the hallway and into an examination room.

Stiles can’t remember the last time he’s been in a hospital. It makes him uneasy, and he’s tense as he sits on the examination table. Melissa instructs him to take his shirt off, and he does. She cuts away the bandages, and gasps at the sight of both old and new wounds. She traces her hands over Stiles’ scarred torso.

Stiles tenses at her touch, and focuses his vision on a poster about puberty with the tag line “Everybody does it!”

Melissa looks up at him, her eyes unreadable. “You’re going to need stitches,” she says, “And an x-ray of your wrist.”

Melissa excuses herself to gather the supplies for the stitches, and Stiles sits in the room, staring at his wrist. She comes back quickly, and gets to work on his side.

“Eli is cute,” she says, trying to distract Stiles from the push and pull of the needle and thread. Stiles nods, humming in agreement. “He acts just like you did when you were that age.”

Stiles tilts his head, thinking about his son in the lobby. He’s not sure he ever walked into the hospital complaining that it stinks, but he probably was just as energetic at age 5. 

“Did my father really tell you about him?” Stiles asks, and Melissa chuckles.

“We exchange stories of our grandchildren all the time,” She says, “Scott’s little girl, Melanie, is just learning her first words. She yells ‘sit’ at her dad like he’s a dog. Makes everyone chuckle.”

Stiles thinks for a minute. He never really imagined Scott having kids. When he had thought about what it would be like coming back, he always imagined life would be just how he left it. The news of Scott having a kid doesn’t change anything, though. He still hates him.

Melissa senses his discomfort, and stabs right in when she asks, “So, what’s the reason for this visit?”

Stiles looks over at Melissa, and sees her staring at him, the needle in her hand. She’s looking out for his father, Stiles realizes. It makes Stiles feel slightly less guilty, knowing that all this time, at least his father had people looking out for him.

He could lie. He could say he’s just here for a visit, or tell her he needed a change of scenery, but nothing good ever came out of lying to Melissa, and he’s sure his father probably told Melissa something about him anyways.

He looks at the wedding band on his finger. He had thought about leaving it at the cemetery, but the thought of completely losing that part of him had almost shattered him. “My husband,” he says slowly, and Melissa follows his gaze. “He was killed. I guess I just needed help, and my dad was the only person I wanted to see.”

He senses her hardness melting. She wraps him into another hug, and Stiles buries his face into her shoulder. After his own mother died, Melissa had acted as a surrogate mother. Having her here now brings him back to when he was ten.

“Eli seems to be doing well,” she says, and he knows she’s probably comparing him to how he had acted when his mother died.

“He’s had practice,” Stiles says, and he nods his head to signify that he won’t go deeper. Melissa frowns, but nods.

“Let’s go get your x-ray,” she says, and Stiles stands to follow her.

?

_Stiles is pretty sure he’s dead. Like, 90 percent sure. Maybe 80. He isn’t really sure if the afterlife is supposed to be dark nothing, but he doesn’t think it’s a good sign when everything just does black. If he isn’t dead, then he’s at least in deep shit._

_The man had taken him by surprise. Honestly, for once he hadn’t done anything to provoke an attack. He was just at a gas station when he felt strong arms around his torso, and he was being dragged into an alley. The person at the pump next to him just nodded like what was happening was normal, and the asshole attendant had broadcasted “don’t forget to pay inside when you’re done being murdered.”_

_What is his life?_

_He’s nineteen, he’s survived Beacon -freaking- Hills, and he’s going to be murdered in an alley?_

_Stiles slowly begins to come into consciousness. He can feel hands on his body, feeling his chest and his face and Stiles realizes that this is a handsy mother-fucker. He’s annoyed, but then he hears a hushed voice saying, “Stiles,” over and over._

_This is worse than Stiles could ever imagine. Whoever just abducted him knows his name. Oh God, he thinks, what if it’s Scott? Or Derek?_

_Stiles keeps his eyes closed for as long as he can, but the hands keep feeling his body, so he cracks one eye open. He doesn’t expect to see Chris Argent._

_“Wat?” He says, leaning forward and wincing at the sting in the back of his head. “the fuck?” He mumbles, and Chris looks unamused._

_“Dante manhandled you a little too much,” Chris says, and he nods to the guy behind him. Dante is huge, with professional boxer level of muscles and at least six inches on Stiles. The guy waves sheepishly at him, and says “Sorry, I’m used to werewolves.”_

_Stiles still has no idea what’s going on, so he repeats his previous question. “What the fuck?”_

_Chris sighs, standing up straight, and Stiles realizes that he’s sitting on the ground. He looks around them. There is an SUV at one end of the alley, with a couple guys standing around it, watching them closely. The other side opens up into the gas station, and Stiles can see his car parked at a pump._

_Chris holds a hand out to Stiles and helps him to his feet. “Your father has you listed as a missing person.”_

_Stiles sighs. “Does that mean you’re going to bring me back to Beacon Hills? Is that why your guy grabbed me, because not cool man.”_

_“No,” Chris says, and it makes Stiles blink at him in surprise. “It means you should probably call your father and tell him you’re not dead.”_

_And okay. Maybe Stiles should do that. Hell, he’s thought about doing that every day for the last year, but he knows that if he calls, there’s a million questions he has to answer._

_“Noted,” Stiles says, and he edges towards the end of the alley. Dante steps in front of him._

_Chris grabs Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re not leaving,” he says, and Stiles deflates just a little._

_“Why not?” He asks._

_Chris grins at him, and it makes Stiles feel very uncomfortable. “I’m not letting you go until you can take Dante in a fight.”_

_Stiles looks over at Dante, who is grinning at him like he can’t wait to tear Stiles apart. Stiles looks quickly at Chris. “What?”_

_“Stiles,” Chris says, slowly. “You’re not dead, yet. But I’ve heard rumors, and I know there’s been a few close calls. I know I can’t drag you back to Beacon Hills, but I also can’t let you go without learning how to defend yourself.”_

_Stiles looks at his fists, which are bloody and scarred by a run in with goblins, and he sighs._

_“Just tell me Derek isn’t with you,” he says, because that is literally the last thing he needs. Chris raises an eyebrow, but shakes his head no._

?

Stiles comes back to the waiting room with a blue cast and a prescription for sleeping pills. Eli is running circles around the room, his father sitting in a chair and watching in amazement. Melissa laughs, patting him on the shoulder before going to say goodbye to Eli. Stiles goes to his father, but he doesn’t miss when Melissa gives Eli a second sucker.

“How’d it go?” His father asks. Stiles shrugs.

“Broken wrist and ten stitches,” he says, and his father winces.       

“Ouch,” he says, and then adds, “Eli says he’s hungry. Are you up for the diner on our way home?”

“I’m surprised he can be hungry with how many sweets you and Melissa are giving him,” he says, but he doesn’t answer. The diner had always been a him and his father thing. They went there after every visit to his mom, and then after, they went whenever one of them was having a bad day. It’d be a nice tradition to pass onto his son, but Stiles doesn’t know if he’s up for the attention.

Stiles looks at his father, and it’s answer enough. “Don’t worry, I stocked up on mac and cheese and pancake mix.” 

“Pancakes?” Eli says, his eyes growing wide as he comes over to them. He has the sucker- this time cherry flavored- tucked into his check. He grins at them, showing of the gap in his mouth.

Stiles catches a glimpse of Isaac on the way to the car. He’s across the parking lot, not close enough to say hi -thank god- but he does nod when the werewolf catches his eye.

Isaac gives him a small smile, and his eyes drift over to Eli, who’s growling. Isaac laughs, and it’s not douche-y or condescending and Stiles isn’t really sure how to make of any of this. People have been nice to him since returning and he isn’t sure why he’s so surprised, but he is.

“Isaac is a counselor,” his dad says as he helps buckle Eli into his booster, “he mostly works with abuse victims, but he’s been helpful with some trauma victims as well.”  

Stiles watches as Isaac enters the hospital. Again, he’s surprised about how grown up and different everyone is.

“I’m surprised he came back,” Stiles says.

His father climbs into the drivers side, while Stiles takes the seat next to him. The seat is familiar, worn and warm and it reminds Stiles of all the times he tagged along on some late-night run. His father looks at him, a smile on his face, and he says, “Maybe he realized Beacon Hills is home.”


	3. Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so apparently this is going to be a daily thing. At least for now. I don't know. But thank you all for reading and for the positive comments. I'm going to change the tags to reflect some of the upcoming flashbacks, so hopefully some of the confusion makes a little more sense.

_“Come on,” his bed companion whispers in his ear, and Stiles buries himself deeper into the blankets. He feels a cold hand on his stomach, and he winces and groans and rolls until he’s facing the other way. The other male laughs. “Stiles,_ babe _.”_

_“Go away,” he mumbles weakly, but he knows Justin and knows that he won’t stop bugging him until he drags himself out of bed._

_“Stiles,” Justin says, pulling back the blankets until he reveals a mess of brown hair. “Our realtor is waiting.”_

_“Fuck Jen,” Stiles says, “She’s a terrible realtor.”_

_He can hear the reprimand on Justin’s tongue. He’s such a prude when it comes to language, and okay, maybe Eli is at the age where he’s going to start to pick up on Stiles’ bad mouth, but there’s no denying that Jen is the worst realtor in the history of realtors._

_Justin sighs, and starts to pull his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Maybe you’re just picky.”_

_That has Stiles rolling out of his cocoon and looking at his boyfriend like he has a death wish. “Picky?” He says, his eyes narrowing, “the last house she showed us literally had a pit in the backyard. It was at least six feet deep.”_

_Justin is looking smug, his blue eyes dark and mischievous, and Stiles realizes it was a ploy to get him out from under the covers. “Oh you ass,” he mumbles, but he gets up anyways, and goes to the tiny bathroom in the little apartment they’re renting. It probably is time for a bigger place, but Jen seriously sucks at her job. He can hear Eli in the living room, playing with blocks, and Justin passes by the door before he closes it._

_“We have to leave in fifteen minutes,” he says, seriously, because Justin is always serious. And also never late._

_“Fine,” Stiles huffs, but he’s already resigned to the fact that he’s probably going to hate the house she has lined up for them. It’s not that Jen’s a bad person, she just seems to have a listening problem, and no common sense when it comes to what would be safe for a two-year-old._

_Stiles isn’t really sure how he ended up here, with a boyfriend and an infant and plans for the future. When Stiles first left Beacon Hills, he didn’t have plans to make anywhere his new home. He was never going to settle down. He was going to be a lifelong drifter, like Billy the kid or something. It’s like one day he woke up and he was in someone else’s, much better, life._

_He showers quickly, mostly because he doesn’t want to piss Justin off. There’s only so much of Stiles that one person can find endearing before they get full on annoyed. Justin is mostly immune to Stiles, but sometimes Stiles manages to push the right buttons._

_He’s ready to go in ten minutes, and Justin is grinning at him from the door way, Eli in his arms. Eli grins when he sees Stiles, and reaches out to him._

_“Oh, little pup,” He says fondly, kissing his nose, “you make waking up at ten in the morning better.”_

_“You act like that’s early,” Justin says. He opens the door for the two, and watches as Stiles carefully places Eli on his hip. “And I thought I made your mornings better.”_

_“Hmm,” Stiles says, a glean in his eyes. “I know what you could’ve done to make my morning better.”_

_Justin rolls his eyes, but he blushes, so Stiles gives himself a mental high five. He wraps a protective arm around Stiles and Eli as the three make the long trek to their car. Eli is chattering away in Stiles’ ear, only every second or third word making sense, and he knows the kid says “shit” as least once. He’s hoping Justin didn’t hear, or if he did hear, that at least he’s going to ignore it until after they get done with the house visit._

_Justin has the address on his phone. Jen decided to keep contact with Justin only after the third house showing, when Stiles called her dense because she showed them a fixer upper with exposed nails and mold in the floor. “This isn’t some stupid TV special,” he had hissed as he scooped up Eli and stormed out to the car._

_Justin had stayed back and apologized like a traitor._

_Stiles suspects that Jen is trying to steal Justin. She’s pretty enough, with copper colored hair and honey eyes. She’s always flirting with him, throwing her hair over her shoulder and moaning on about how pretty everything will look once it’s painted and decorated. She even offered to move furniture, those exact words, and it was a big enough innuendo that Justin actually caught on._

_They get there within ten minutes, which, oddly enough, is one of Stiles’ requirements. He wanted Eli to be somewhere familiar, and it’s close enough that they can still take him to the same park and the same daycare._

_The house is small, but it’s cute, with a small white porch and two large windows. It’s some kind of mossy green color, and it has actual flower boxes with red and pink and yellow flowers spilling over. Stiles is kinda in love._

_Jen is waiting in the driveway, and she smiles when she sees Justin. “Hello,” she squeals, her voice loud enough that Eli covers his little ears. She looks over at Stiles, and her smile dims. “Hi.”_

_Jen dives right in once they all reach the front door. “It’s a three bedroom, two bath, home. It’s newly updated, but it wasn’t a total makeover. There’s a few things I would change, but it’s not hideous.”_

_Stiles isn’t really sure Jen picked the right career path, if that’s how she sells people on houses. But he doesn’t really care what she thinks, because once she has the door open, Stiles is grinning._

_It’s small and cozy and reminds him of his dad’s house. She’s right, they didn’t totally gut the house when they updated it, and there’s still bits and pieces of other people’s lives in the crown molding and the door handles and trim work. It’s like a treasure hunt, and it takes Stiles’ breath away._

_Eli is clapping in Stiles’ arms, and he’s saying “house,” over and over again, and Stiles nods when Justin looks at him, eyes wide and grinning._

_Jen is probably happy when the two tell her it’s perfect. She might be attracted to Justin, but Stiles knows they’re solid, and he knows that she can tell there’s no breaking them up. And there was also that one time Stiles almost threw a hammer at her._

_He walks around the house with Eli as Justin goes over the logistics with Jen. The two drift from room to room, planning out paint colors and looking out the windows at the neighbors. Eli is still chanting “house,” and Stiles looks at him and smiles and says, “yeah, pup. This is our home.”_

?

Derek Hale shows up at his house at five in the morning, because, apparently, he doesn’t believe in sleep. Or maybe he’s a morning person, which is way worse. Stiles hates morning people. He’s lucky Stiles hasn’t slept or else Stiles would be majorly pissed.

“You haven’t slept,” is the first thing Derek says when Stiles opens the door, and thank God Beacon Hills has a pack of such astute werewolves guarding them.

“It’s five in the morning,” Stiles says, and Derek just raises an eyebrow. “Who in the world actually gets up at five in the morning?”

Derek laughs. “I actually woke up at four,” he says, and Stiles whines. “I was out for a jog. I was running past your house, and I saw the light on.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “that’s not creepy at all. I thought my dad told Scott to tell you guys to stop stalking me.”

The look on Derek’s face tells Stiles that Scott did in fact tell them to leave him alone, but none of them plan on listening. Which is great.

“Why are you here, Derek?”

Derek looks thoughtful for a second, his face sour. He must decide on what he’s going to say, because he opens his mouth. “Melissa told Scott about your husband.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air, because of course she did. He had thought that their trust was sacred, but apparently Melissa would rather make her son happy. Which, Stiles probably should’ve expected. “Oh my god,” he mutters, “I can’t say I missed living in a small town.”

Derek doesn’t look the least bit sympathetic. “You probably should’ve thought about that before who told the mother of your supposed nemesis.”

“Firstly,” Stiles says, holding up a finger, “Scott _is_ my nemesis. And secondly, doctor/patient confidentiality.”

“Your hospital visit was under the radar and completely free.”

Stiles sputters, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “Don’t try to use logic against me,” he says. He realizes with a start that he’s relaxed, and he’s happy, and he’s actually enjoying bickering with Derek. This is probably the first time this week Stiles has felt so comfortable. It pisses him off.

Derek must sense the change in his demeanor, because he leans against the doorframe. “Well, I’m here to apologize on behalf of the pack. Had we known, we probably would have been for discrete about surrounding your house.”

“Thanks,” Stiles say, but it doesn’t go past his voice. “If that is all, I’d like to get back to my not sleeping.”

He starts to close the door, but Derek doesn’t move from his spot on the frame. His eyes are dark as he watches Stiles, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at him. There’s guilt in his shoulders, and grief in the way he holds his mouth. Then he’s saying, “If you need to talk,” and “I understand what you’re going through,” and Stiles can’t take it. Not from him. Derek is supposed to be a brooding asshole. He’s supposed to be smart and snarky and have zero consideration for Stiles’ feelings.

And suddenly, Stiles is back. He’s back in Massachusetts, and there’s Justin, and there’s blood everywhere, and it was easy to pretend he was fine until Derek Hale had to go and be nice to him.

Derek looks alarmed as Stiles’ throat tightens and his lungs beg for air. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a panic attack. Worse, he can’t remember what he’s supposed to do.

He falls to the floor, his back against the door frame. Derek kneels in front of him, and he’s saying something, but Stiles can’t focus on the words. All he knows is that he’s dying. He’s dying and his son is sleeping in the next room.

“Breathe with me,” Derek says, and Stiles tries to focus on him. He can’t focus on Justin, or on Eli, or on his new life in Beacon Hills. Not if he wants to be there for his son.

It’s hard, but Stiles manages to focus on Derek. He sucks in a slow breath, following Derek’s own long, steady breathing.

The attack dies down. Stiles is tired, so tired, and his lungs are screaming.

He looks at Derek. The werewolf is on the floor with him, and somehow Stiles’ feet have found their way into Derek’s lap. He’s drawing circle on his ankle and watching him with cautious eyes. Stiles pants, then runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “He was good,” he says, because he feels like he owes Derek an explanation. And also because he’s been kind of shitty to his memory the past couple of days. “Justin… he was normal.”

“Was he a werewolf?” Derek asks, and then he quickly adds, “Eli has a surprising amount of control. Someone had to have taught him.”

Stiles isn't so sure about that. Eli ran head first into an enemy pack on the first day they were here.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, because of course he ended up with a werewolf.

Derek looks at him, his eyes thoughtful but clear. “Tell me about him.”

That's probably the last thing Stiles wants to do. He's been trying to forget about him, trying to move on, because dwelling on it will only be bad for Eli. Justin is dead, and despite what happens in Beacon Hills, most people don't come back.

Derek senses his hesitation. “Stiles,” he says, his voice warm in ways it's never been before. “What you're doing, it's not going to help. You can't just forget about him. Stop focusing on the bad things, and tell me the good. Trust me.”

Stiles does trust Derek. More so than he thought he would. And besides, Derek is probably the only one who has at least some understanding of what he's going through.

So Stiles closes his eyes and tries to push past the image of bloody clothes and an overturned table. “Justin was,” he begins, and suddenly the image is clear in his mind. He opens his eyes and grins at Derek. “He was a _morning person_.”

Derek snorts.

“And not just a normal kind of morning person, who wakes up and keeps to himself. He was the absolute _worst._ He’d wake up at dawn every morning, and he’d go and shower and then he’d poke and probe and tickle me until I was awake, too.” Stiles’ eyes are wide, trying to gain sympathy from Derek, but he’s just shaking his head. “And then he’d wake Eli, that poor boy, and we’d all be awake by six in the morning. And Eli and I would give him hell, but Justin would just laugh.”

He’s laughing. It’s a little bitter, but it’s mostly happy, because remembering Justin like this is nice.

He looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Justin was always happy. No matter how much shit I’d give him, he was always just so content with life.”

He looks back at Derek, and he sees something in Derek’s eyes. There’s jealousy, and a bit of sadness, but there’s something else, something that’s a mix of pride and joy.

“Y’know,” Stiles says, still looking at Derek. “I’ve never met a werewolf that didn’t have a tragic back story.” He pauses, because Derek’s had one of the most tragic back stories Stiles knows of. Then he adds, quickly, “besides Scott.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but there’s no denying the truth.

“Justin wasn’t any exception. He had a shitty life. But he was still so happy, all the time. He was happy to be there for me. He was happy to be there for Eli. He was happy with his junky car and his dumb job and his mundane life.” Stiles is sad, and he isn’t sure he’s ever going to be not sad. He looks at Derek, and there’s tears in his eyes, threatening to run over his face. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

?

_Stiles stands outside the payphone, an honest to God payphone, and he’s immensely disappointed because it isn’t blue. It looks nothing like the Tardis, and yes, Stiles has seen a few episodes. He will admit that there was a part of him that wished the doctor would bounce out and save him from his pitiful life._

_He holds a few quarters in his hand, looking at the way they glint in his palm. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should walk off and forget about it, but his journey had taken him too close to California, and a news broadcast had aired on the television in his motel room._

“My son, Stiles, has been missing for 1034 days. Please, if you have any information.”

_Stiles is twenty-one. He’s been missing for almost three years. It sounds way worse when you put that into days, then hours, then minutes._

_That was what got him. The days. Not his father, who looked old and tired and ragged. Stiles had seen him that way before, after his mother died. He had known what leaving would do to him, but he had never thought about how long he had been gone. He hadn’t thought about the number of days. 1034 days is a long time to not know where your child is, to not know if he’s dead or alive._

_The broadcast had had a picture of Stiles, probably the last picture taken before he went missing. It’s his senior portrait, and he looked so young and naive and happy. Underneath his smile, there was the phone number for the FBI agent Rafael McCall, and Stiles is surprised that Scott’s dad would be looking for him. It must’ve been a favor to his dad, because Scott would never had asked him._

_Stiles ignores the number, and he ignores the uneasiness in his chest. He pushes into the phone booth, dropping his quarters in and dialing the Beacon Hill’s Sheriff station._

_If Stiles was honest, he would admit that he had tried, over and over, to forget the number. He had tried to not think about his dad or his life in Beacon Hills, but despite his best efforts, he’d find himself mumbling the phone number on accident. Old habits die hard, he guesses._

_There’s a few rings, and then a voice he doesn’t recognizes says, “Beacon Hill’s Sheriff department. This is Mary. How can I help you?”_

_“Yeah hi,” Stiles says, shifting uncomfortably, “Can I talk to-” and he stops, short, because_ my dad _is on the tip of his tongue. He takes a deep breath, and then says, “The sheriff.”_

_There’s a pause from the other line. When she speaks again, Mary sounds paranoid and protective. “What is the purpose of this phone call?” She asks and Stiles frowns._

_He looks at his hand, thinking. What is the purpose of this phone call? It isn’t to give himself up. It isn’t to tell his dad where he is. “It’s about his son,” Stiles says, slowly._

_Mary is quiet for a moment. A long moment. Stiles starts to think maybe she hung up on him, which, rude. But Mary takes a deep breath. “If this is another prank call, I swear to God, I will hunt you down and beat you with my night stick.”_

_Stiles can’t help it. He opens his mouth and the words just spill out. “That sounds like an innuendo.”_

_Mary makes an impressive growl, and Stiles wonders if his dad is employing werewolves now. “You sick fuck,” she says, and Stiles is impressed by the amount of devotion in her voice. “That man has been run all over this state because of dumb teenagers like you who think exploiting a man’s grief is a good time. I am tracking this phone call as we speak, and I promise that I will find you, and you don’t want to know what will happen when I do.”_

_Stiles doesn’t really know what comes over him, but he’s angry, so angry, but not at Mary. There’s a bubbling self-hatred in the pit of his stomach. How could he have done this to his dad? Why didn’t he think this through? He leans his forehead against the phone, closing his eyes, listening to Mary’s string of threats._

_“I’m in Oregon,” He says, quietly at first, but his voice gains friction. “Some crappy little town on the border. Probably an hours drive from Beacon Hills.” Stiles hears Mary’s mouth shut, and he can feel her surprise through the phone. “But I’m sure officer Davis has already told you that. Davis is still there, right? He was the best tech on the force, It’d be an absolute shame if you lost him.” Mary is quietly picking up the pieces, making soft gasping noises as the words string together in her head. Then, to drive the nail home, Stiles says, “Can I talk to my dad now?”_

_Mary puts him on hold, and then there’s probably only ten seconds before his father is picking up the phone, “Stiles?” He asks, his voice full of so much hope it makes Stiles’ heart hurt and takes his voice from his lung._

_He can’t speak._

_“Stiles?” His dad says, and then his voice is fading from the phone. He can hear a quiet, “Mary, are you sure?” Before he’s coming back and saying, “Oh my God, Stiles._ Please _.”_

_“Hi dad,” he manages to croak out. He’s breathless, and there’s tears burning in his eyes._

_His dad cries. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever heard his dad cry. Even after his mom died, his dad was always strong. But now his dad is sobbing, and Stiles is sobbing too._

_“This is a mistake,” Stiles says, because it is. He can’t do this. He can’t give his dad hope and then take it away, but Stiles isn’t coming back. Not unless his dad throws him into the back of a cop car._

_“Stiles,” his dad says, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”_

_“No,” Stiles says, and then repeats the word. He doesn’t really know which question he’s answering. Maybe it’s both._

_There’s movement on the other line, and then his dad says, “I’m coming to get you, just hang tight.”_

_“No,” he repeats a third time._

_There’s a surprised silence. Stiles sniffles, and he breathes low and shaky._

_“Stiles?” His dad says. He’s confused._

_“I can’t, dad,” Stiles says, slowly, “Scott. And Donovan.”_

_“I know what happened,” his dad says, quickly, reassuringly, “and Donovan’s not dead, Stiles. But even if he was, you mean more to me than that, anyways.”_

_Stiles is surprised. He pushes off of the payphone, and his voice cracks when he speaks. “What?” He says, “Donovan’s not dead?”_

_His dad pauses. “Well, he died,” he says, truthfully, “but Theo brought him back.”_

_Theo, Stiles thinks, angrily. Of course, Theo had something to do with this. Of course, Theo would tell Scott that Stiles murdered Donovan, and then proceed to bring him back to life. He closes his eyes, trying to contain his anger towards Theo. “I still can’t come back,” Stiles says, and he hears his dad start to protest. “Dad, I just did this to let you know you can stop looking. You can move on. Mary sounds like she’d be more than willing to start a life with you.”_

_“What?” His dad says, “Stiles, I don’t want anyone else here, but you. You’re my son.”_

_Stiles closes his eyes, “I’ll call you, dad,” he promises. He hadn’t known until now how much he missed his dad, how much he needed him. “But I can’t come back. And you can’t make me. Legally, I’m allowed to make my own decisions.”_

_There’s a surprised sound from his father, but Stiles shakes his head. He thinks about the baby that just lost his mother, about him bundled up in the back of Stiles’ car, his fuzzy brown hair and his big brown eyes, and he says, “Dad, I have someone who needs me, and I have to take care of him.”_

_His dad seems to understand, because he sighs, and he says, “You call me every day. And you tell me where you are, when you move. And you be careful.” His dad is crying again, and then so is Stiles._

_“I love you, dad,” he says._

_“Oh my God,” his dad says back, “I love you so much, Son.”_

?

“So why’d you come back?” Stiles asks over coffee and toast. They’re in the kitchen, having moved from their awkward position in the entryway. Derek looks up from his own cup, and he looks nervous. Stiles blinks.

Derek clears his throat. “Uh, for you, I guess,” he says, and Stiles leans back in surprise, because Derek had definitely rejected him on more than one occasion. Stiles was pathetic when he was in high school. And he also didn’t know how to take no as an answer.

“What?” He says dumbly, and his toast falls out his mouth. Smooth, he thinks to himself.

Derek actually blushes, and runs a hand through his hair. “I came back the summer after you graduated. But you weren’t here.”

The words sit in the air, because Stiles can’t think of what to say to that. He never imagined Derek ever coming back for him. It’s intriguing and terrifying at the same time.

Derek laughs awkwardly at Stiles’ stunned silence. “God, the minute I stepped into Beacon Hills, there was a feeling, everything was wrong. Everything was dark. I remember seeing the missing posters, and going to Scott, and asking him what he did. How could he lose you, of all people? You were so loyal, so devoted to him.”

Stiles doesn’t like thinking about that part of his life. The part where he followed Scott without question. Where he trusted him like a brother. That decision ended up biting him in the ass, and it only makes him sad to think about it.

“Yeah,” he says, “I knew my dad would probably go nuts once I was gone. Probably put the town on edge, having the sheriff on edge.”

Derek shakes his head, and his eyes are pleading with him, and Stiles doesn’t really understand what’s going on. “No, Stiles,” he says, and it sounds sad, “The _whole town_ went nuts. Everyone was looking for you. They had search parties in the preserve and candle light vigils, and I’m pretty sure if you look, you could still find some of the posters hanging in the library.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think anyone really cared about him, besides his dad and maybe Derek, somewhere deep inside of him. It’s too much, thinking about Marge and Mrs. Judy and everyone clawing through the woods looking for him.

Derek doesn’t stop. “Then we found your jeep, and it was terrible. The whole town died. We all knew you’d never go anywhere without it. Not willingly, at least.”

Stiles looks at his hands. Parting with the jeep had been a tactical decision, and it was one of the hardest decisions of his life. But he knew his dad would’ve had a warrant out of it, and he knew it’d be too easy to find him if he kept it, so he left it on the side of the road, the keys still inside.

“Your dad didn’t stop looking, at least not then. Not until three years later, when all of a sudden he took down all the posters, and told everyone to stop talking about it.” The phone call, Stiles thinks. His father never told anyone he found Stiles, Stiles had begged him not to. At least, not until he was settled and prepared for whatever blow back was to come. “No one ever really told us why. We had thought that maybe someone had found your body, but then we’d start to hear bits and pieces. Melissa would tell Scott that your dad had mentioned a grandson. Mary let it slip that she’s talked to you. Probably four years after you went missing, everyone realized what happened.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. He feels guilty, and when he looks at Derek he sees the life he could have had had he stayed, but that only makes him more guilty. Stiles did what he did because he had to. Stiles was living in Scott’s life, he was a player that Scott was allowed to reposition to fit his moods. Stiles was the comic relief, the best friend, and then he was a victim needing be saved, then the confidant, and then the villain. Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, he left, and despite everything that’s happened, Stiles thinks his life was better for it.

Derek doesn’t sound angry or bitter, and despite the sadness in his eyes, Stiles knows that Derek understands him. Derek has probably been the only person that actually understands him.


	4. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has become so much bigger than I ever thought, and I am so thankful for it. You guys are awesome.

_Stiles is 800 miles into his escape when the car he bought off a guy needing weed money starts to groan and shutter. He winces, looking anxiously around the quiet neighborhood he's found himself in. He had decided to go North (up, up and away!), but he regrets the decision now. The streets are dead and a much too dark shade of black. The Washington air is cold._

_The car lets out a groan and Stiles feels something snap, and all of a sudden he's stalled out on the road._

_He's 14 hours into freedom, and he's already fucked._

_He gets out and pops the hood. After years of dealing with the jeep, he's pretty confident with a roll of duct tape and a water bottle. There's something hanging, something that obviously was attached to something else before it snapped. Maybe he can just tape it back on._

_“That is not going to fix it,” someone says from behind him, and Stiles spins around fast enough that he's seeing stars. And apparently angels, because woah._

_The girl across the street from him is Lydia Martin level of gorgeous. She's all long limbs and toned muscles, with a sharp, fox like nose, and layers of bright red hair. (Okay, maybe Stiles has a fetish.) She is breathtaking, and Stiles kinda has a crush on her instantly._

_“Huh?” He says, because duct tape always works._

_She smirks, and detaches herself from where she was leaning against the mailbox, and walks over to Stiles. She gets close, leaning to look under the hood. She smells like vanilla._

_“The timing belt is snapped,” She says, pointing to the broken piece of rubber Stiles was trying to tape. “You'll need a new one.”_

_“Shit,” Stiles says, because he has 500 dollars in his pocket. Not enough for a mechanic, and unless he can start mowing lawns, he has no prospect of making any more._

_The girl looks over at him, and he's buzzing with panic. She smiles sweetly. “I'm Eloise Schaffer,” She says, holding out of hand for Stiles to shake._

_He takes it. Her hands are soft and warm and strong._

_“Stiles,” he says._

_Her smile grows until she's beaming at him, and she says, “My brother's a mechanic. He could probably fix it for you, if you want to come inside.”_

_Stiles looks over at her house and hesitates. It's tall and bright and looks like every other house next to it, but the street is still too dark here, it's still too quiet. But Eloise is smiling at him, and she feels warm next to him, so he follows her inside._

_He isn't sure what he expects. Probably ghosts to jump out at him, or a demon to start gnawing on his leg. He doesn't expect the little Shitzu bouncing at his legs, or the brown haired guy sprawled out on the couch, a laptop in his lap. He looks up as Stiles and Eloise enter, and he says, “Got a new chew toy, Elle?”_

_Eloise shuts the door behind Stiles. She grabs his arm, squeezing gently, and says, “This is Stiles. His car broke down outside our house.”_

_“Sounds like fate,” the guy says, bouncing up. He holds an impatient hand out to Stiles and says, “keys.”_

_Stiles steps back, running into Eloise as he holds the keys to his chest. It may be a lump of junk, but the car is all he has. “I have no way of paying you, and it's really not that big of a deal, I'll just call a tow truck or something.”_

_The guy and Eloise share a look, and suddenly she is pushing Stiles down the hall and into the kitchen. Stiles would fight back, but the girl is strong and also there's no reason for him to be panicking right now._

_Except that all of this is a failure, and he's going to have to call his dad because apparently he can't even get running away right._

_He sits at the table, and Eloise hands him a cup of water before she sits down too. She says, “Stiles,” when he avoids meeting her eyes._

_He looks up, and her eyes are a shiny yellow. Of freaking course._

_“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, “Are werewolves everywhere? Because honestly I'm running away from werewolves and I need to know now if it's just going to be a waist of my time.”_

_Eloise just shakes her head, and her eyes fade back to deep brown._

_“No, seriously. You guys are like weeds. This is ridiculous.”_

_“Don't be racist,” She says, but there's something fond in her voice._

_Stiles blinks at her. “Is werewolf a race?” He asks, because it's actually a good question. One that he's surprised he's never thought of before. That's definitely something that's going to keep him up at night._

_Eloise shrugs. “Same idea,” She says._

_This is surreal. Out of all the places his car could've broken down, it's outside a house full of werewolves._

_Eloise waves her hand like she's trying to shoo the conversation away, and she says, “My brother isn't going to charge you anything.”_

_Stiles narrows his eyes. “Why?”_

_This is when Eloise’s face gets even softer, and she says, “You smell like an omega.”_

_“What?” He practically screeches, and then he's saying, “I'm not even a werewolf. And I used magic to cover my scent. And what the hell is going on?”_

_The girl bites her lip and thinks for a moment. Stiles thinks too. He's thinking of a way to get the hell out of here._

_Eloise takes Stiles’ hand, and he lets her, because they're still soft and warm and strong. “Just let him fix your car. And stay here tonight, and then tomorrow, if you want to leave, you can leave. Or you can stay.”_

?

“Are you guys everywhere?” Stiles asks as he approaches the desk. Hayden looks up from the paperwork she was doing, and raises an eyebrow. “You werewolves,” he elaborates, flailing his arms, “or, members of the Scott McCall fan club.”

Hayden tilts her head, and she holds out a hand for Stiles to give her his insurance card. “Yeah,” she answers.

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t know how he can take this. He can’t step out of his house without running into one of the McCall pack members, and he can’t stay in his house without Derek showing up. Next thing he knows he’s going to be running into Jackson fucking Whittemore at the grocery store. There’s no escaping. He feels trapped.

Hayden starts to work of filing his prescription, because Stiles realized sometime after Derek left and before Eli woke that he needs sleep. Badly.

Hayden is smirking while she types in his information, and Stiles huffs. “It’s ridiculous how many of you there are.”

Hayden looks up at him briefly, and her eyes are dark and mischievous. “Well, there really wasn’t anyway of hiding the existence of the supernatural after all the shit you guys pulled in high school, so the townspeople were given two options. Either they back Scott, or they leave.”

Stiles looks horrified. “Oh my God,” he says, thinking about a whole town of Scott supporters. “I’m surprised there isn’t a statue of him somewhere.”

“It’s in the works,” Hayden says, like it’s not weird for a town to build a statue of a random person. Stiles blinks at her, but then Hayden is smirking and he realizes she’s playing him.

Stiles has probably had three interactions with Hayden his whole life, and they were all from well over 7 years ago. He doesn’t understand her. She’s pretty, and she’s snarky like Tara, and slightly terrifying, but there’s something in the way she talks to him. She’s being soft. She’s being _nice._

Oh God, Stiles thinks, does the whole town know?

Hayden fills his prescription without saying a word, but before she hands it to him, she throws her hair over her shoulder and yells, “Karen, I’m going on break.”

She takes off her lab coat and steps out from behind the desk and looks at Stiles with confidence and surety. “Let’s walk,” she says, and then she’s going towards the door without waiting to see if Stiles will follow. She already knows that he will.

They head out to the street, and walk along the sidewalk. This part of Beacon Hills has always reminded Stiles of a city. It was closest he ever got to urban until he was almost twenty. Now, after years of working just outside of New York, it looks small and quant.

There’s a row of small town shops, little boutiques and coffee shops and a florist. There’s wooden park benches and trees and it’s honestly beautiful, if you can get past the people that live her.

Hayden walks, looking around quietly, and she says, “Have you heard about the deaths?”

Stiles hasn’t. “More people dying in Beacon Hills, surprising,” he says, and Hayden shrugs.

“Your dad is working with Scott on it,” she says, and it makes Stiles sick to think about his dad and Scott. “There’s been three so far. A teacher, a jogger, and an old lady. No connections, except for three dots on the back of their neck, and the faint smell of mountain ash.”

Stiles can’t deny that he’s interested. He’s always been a whore for a good mystery, but he isn’t back to get tangled into Beacon Hills crap.

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles asks.

Hayden looks at him closely, “Maybe I’m telling you be careful,” she says, and then she turns around and walks away, like she wasn’t just in the middle of a conversation. Stiles doesn’t follow.  

Beacon Hills is fucking weird.

?

_Stiles is going to kill Deaton if he ever gets out of these woods. He’s been walking for four hours, going in circles, based off of directions Deaton had scribbled on a piece of paper. Stiles can’t find the house that Deaton had promised was out there, and worse, he can’t find the road he parked his jeep on._

_He should’ve known this was a joke. He should’ve known Deaton would choose Scott over him. Scott is Deaton’s pride and joy. His son. His_ true alpha.

_Why would Stiles think that Deaton would help him learn magic? And even after Deaton had said no, he still listened to the directions he gave to find a druid named Eleanor who lives in the middle of the preserve._

_Yeah, Stiles should’ve seen this coming._

_He’s cold, and he’s muddy from a fall he took three hours ago, and the wind is starting to sound like laughter._

_Or maybe it is laughter. Maybe the trees can talk. Anything is possible in Beacon Hills._

_“Oh my God,” he shouts, as loud as he can, throwing his head back to look of where the branches intertwine above him, “I give up.”_

_“That’s certainly a shame,” A voice says, and Oh my god, the tree’s really do talk. Stiles is momentarily freaked out, before the voice continues as a girl materializes in front of him, “Considering I came all this way to find you.”_

_And this girl looks nothing like Stiles had expected. She’s short and small and only a few years older than him, if even. She seems nothing like the all powerful druid Deaton had made her seem. But she did just appear out of nowhere, so Stiles decides that maybe looks can be deceiving._

_“Eleanor?” He asks, slowly, and the girl smiles at him._

_“Mieczyslaw,” she says, and okay, Stiles isn’t sure he’s ever been more terrified._

_He takes a step back, but the girl is holding a hand out to him, and beckoning him to follow. He isn’t sure if he should, this girl could probably murder him, but he’s come all this way and if he doesn’t learn magic there’s no way Scott or any other werewolf his dad convinces to look for him won’t find him._

_He follows her, and watches with awe as the trees dance away from him. It’s like he’s walking through a mirror, where everything is bright and reflexive and moves when he moves. He sees Eleanor in front of him, the only consistent thing._

_A few moments after entering, everything is suddenly still, and he’s standing in a clearing. There’s a wide field full of flowers and odd looking plants, and a long, narrow path that leads to a small cottage._

_An actual cottage, with rock walls and a wooden door and a chimney with smoke puffing out of it._

_Stiles looks at Eleanor, and she’s grinning. She throws her arms out to her sides, and the plants shift. “The power of magic,” she says, and Stiles is seriously impressed, “You’ve been circling my house for the last three hours, and you didn’t even know.”_

_Stiles doesn’t know if he should be pissed off or amazed. He settles on amazed, but only because Eleanor is saying, “I’ll teach you how to do it.”_

_“How to do what, exactly?” Stiles asks._

_Eleanor grins. “Build a wall of magic, so that no one will ever be able to find you.”_

_“Why are you going to help me?” Stiles asks, because he’s just met her and Stiles had planned on getting on his knees and begging. This is easy, and nothing in his life has ever been easy._

_“I’ve always wanted a protegee,” She says, like it’s that simple, “And Deaton told me about you, about your situation. Stiles, you have a presence. There’s a feeling that accompanies you. A feeling of warmth and loyalty and trust. Creatures will flock to you. You’ll need to be prepared.”_

_Stiles doesn’t know what that means. He isn’t sure if he is prepared to be on his own, but he knows he can’t stay here. Besides, Eleanor has that same feeling of warmth and loyalty and trust._

_So he steps forward._

?

Stiles decides to walk around the town, instead of returning to his car and going home. His dad had brought Eli to the station, to introduce him to Mary and Tara and the whole police force. Stiles wasn’t sure about it, at first, but Eli had given him the puppy dog eyes and Stiles broke down.

For the first time since coming, Stiles is completely alone.

He thinks about Justin, and about Eli, and about Derek and Hayden and the McCall pack. He thinks about everything, and then he thinks about nothing.

He closes his eyes and just breathes. He can’t remember the last time he just breathed. It feels amazing.

Eleanor had taught him how to create his own magic. How to feel the properties in the air, and pull them in and manipulate them. She also taught him how to sense other’s magic.

When Stiles closes his eyes, he can smell mountain ash, and feel the push and pull of someone else using magic. 

He isn’t sure what all these murders are about, but he can tell it isn’t good.


	5. Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I've been really busy, and I tried to get this up as fast as I could.

_Stiles can’t sleep. He doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the city or the apartment or the sleeping form next to him, but he can’t sleep. So he does what he does when he can’t sleep, what he’s been doing late at night for the last year, ever since he got a cellphone plan._

_He looks up Beacon Hills. He looks at what time it is there- midnight- and the weather and wonders if his dad is working a night shift. He wonders if it’s cloudy or drizzling or clear. He wonders if it’s hot or cold. He wonders if anyone is wondering about him, now, four years after he went missing._

_“We could go visit, you know,” Justin says, sleepily, and Stiles quickly turns his phone off._

_Justin inches closer, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder, taking a deep breath. He’s smelling him. Trying to figure out what Stiles is feeling. Stiles hopes he can shed some light on that, because Stiles has no idea how he feels._

_“It’s not that,” he says, slowly. He really doesn’t want to go back. “It’s what that vampire said.”_

_Justin hums. He probably didn’t want Stiles to bring up the whole vampire incident. It’s rather embarrassing for all parties involved, but the woman had said something that chilled Stiles. She said something that left him shaking and terrified and breathless._

_Beacon Hills is making quite a name for itself. Rumors have spread to every corner of the country, and beyond borders. Some say it’s the strongest pack of werewolves to ever live. They say the pack has been to hell and fought ever creature down there, and still clawed their way out._

_The rumors aren’t new. Stiles has been hearing them since the moment he left. He’s heard conversations in corners of busy bars, where people thought no one would hear. He’s heard about them taking on rogue wolves and ghosts and the fae. None of it surprises him._

_But the vampire had looked at him with dead eyes and a chilling smile and said, “You smell like them. Like the Beacon Hills pack.” And Stiles has never been more terrified._

_How long have their fingerprints been on him? How many creatures had looked at him and known? How had he not known?_

_“It’s faint,” Justin says, and Stiles jerks, looking at him through the darkness. Justin is looking back. “I don’t think pack members ever lose their scent. Even after the others are gone. If you dig deep enough, you can still smell the bound.”_

_“I don’t want to smell like them,” Stiles says, and he wraps himself into Justin, clinging onto him. Justin laughs softly. “I want to smell like you.”_

_“Don’t worry, you smell like me too,” Justin says, and Stiles is sure he does. They’re still naked from what they did a few hours ago._

_“Can I sever it?” Stiles asks, and Justin stills. “The bond to the McCall pack. Will it ever go away? They kicked me out, after all.”_

_Justin breathes deep, and he closes his eyes. Stiles probably shouldn’t be talking about breaking packs. Justin lost almost his whole family in one night, only his father, who quickly abandoned them, remaining. Stiles can sense his pain, and he feels guilty._

_“I don’t think they ever really meant to kick you out,” Justin says, and Stiles doesn’t know how he would know that. He wasn’t there. It felt pretty real._

_“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” Stiles says, rolling away from his boyfriend. Justin whines, and he grabs for Stiles to come back to him._

_“Hey,” he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to belittle your pain. I’m just saying that I don’t think they thought it though, or really understood what they did until you were gone.”_

_“Why do you always play devil’s advocate?” Stiles asks. He’s maybe a little bit sour, but their relationship is still new, and Stiles isn’t a hundred percent comfortable with this guy trying to tell him the person who destroyed his life did it on accident._

_“I’m sorry,” Justin repeats, and he rolls away from Stiles, giving him his space. “I don’t know what I was trying to get at.”_

_Stiles huffs. He would probably continue the fight, he wants to, but then there’s shrieks from the other bedroom, and Stiles getting up to go see what Eli is doing._

_When he gets back, Justin isn’t in bed, so Stiles takes his phone back out and stares at the Beacon Hills weather report until morning._

?

“What did Scott say?” Stiles asks, randomly, and Derek looks at him with confusion. It’s Stiles’ fourth day back, and they’re sitting on his dads back porch while Eli climbs trees. “When you asked him why I left. What did he say?”

Derek smiles. “That he fucked up,” he says.

Stiles snorts, “He did not,” he says, and even if Stiles could get behind Scott admitting that he did something wrong (something that Stiles has never, in the fourteen years he knew him before he left, seen Scott do), Scott is totally against swearing.

Derek shakes his head, and he looks over at the young wolf. He watches Eli as he says, “It was a hard situation. I was angry and Scott was scared. He mostly gave excuses, at first.”

That sounds like the Scott that Stiles knows and hates.

“He did eventually admit that he messed up, though,” Derek says, and he shakes his head. “For the first year I was back, I hated him, because he pushed you away and you were just gone. There was no scent, no clues to trace. You just left. And it was Scott’s fault.”

It was Scott’s fault. Scott pushed him out. Scott told him to stop caring, but it wasn’t just his fault. It was Malia’s sad but unapologetic smiles, and Lydia’s text messages getting colder until they eventually stopped. Stiles was never sure how Scott got them to hate him. Maybe he told them a lie, or maybe he told them the truth.

“I killed someone,” Stiles says, but Derek doesn’t looked surprised. “I mean, he didn’t stay dead. But I killed him dead for a few months and Scott found out about it.”

Derek shrugs, and says, “Doesn’t surprise me. I always knew you would do anything to save those you love.”

Stiles looks at his hands. “I wasn’t though. I was only saving myself.”

“It’s okay to love yourself,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs, because that might be the stupidest thing Stiles has ever heard Derek mutter.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, “Did Isaac tell you that? Because that definitely sounds like something a therapist would say.”

Derek huffs, looking at Stiles with annoyance in his eyebrows. “I’m going to be home if you’re going to be a dick.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Stiles asks, laughing again, “I’m so sorry, I wounded the grumpy werewolf’s ego. How am I ever going to make up for it?”

And that wasn’t supposed to be flirty. Stiles recoils immediately after he says it, because his husband literally just died, and no matter what his feelings for Derek were seven years ago, he’s not the same person.

Derek notices Stiles flinch, and he drops his wounded façade and says, “Scott’s always been black and white about everything. He couldn’t understand there being a good reason for death.”

Derek’s right. People like Scott think only about being morally right. People like Stiles and Derek live in shades of grey. There are no walls they wouldn’t climb to save the people they love. Given the chance, Stiles would take a bat to the girl who murdered his husband.

“So what changed?” Stiles asks, because somewhere between then and now, Derek had decided Scott was good enough to be his alpha.

“I think that’s something you’ll have to talk about with him,” Derek says, and Stiles huffs. He isn’t all about this cryptic bullshit, and there’s no way Stiles is about to walk up to Scott and ask him about his feelings, or why he threw fourteen years of friendship away over the word of a guy who ended up trying to kill them all.

Stiles wonders what happened to Theo, so he can kick him in the balls.

Derek watches as Eli jumps out of a tree, landing on his knee. When he gets up, there’s a scrape that’s already patching itself.

“We should start training Eli soon,” Derek says, “Do you plan on sending him to school?”

Stiles hadn’t thought about that. He supposes he should. He needs to do whatever he can to get Eli’s life back to normal.

“We’re free this whole week,” Stiles says, and he smiles at Derek, because of course he’s free.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m working the next couple of days,” he says, and Stiles has a moment where he thinks _what the hell?_

When did Derek Hale get a job?

“This weekend?” Stiles suggests, and Derek nods.

“I’ll pick you guys up,” he says.

?

 _“Do we have to do this?” Stiles asks, for probably the tenth time. He’s on the ground, sitting in the grass in the field behind Eleanor’s house, and they’re_ meditating. _Stiles hasn’t sat still for more than two minutes in his whole life, and now Eleanor expects him to do it for a whole hour._

_Eleanor doesn’t open her eyes. She simply says, “Meditation is a skill. One you need to learn, if you’re going to use magic.”_

_“But why?” Stiles whines, because he’s never heard of this before. Sure, Deaton and Morrell and Jennifer always looked cool and collected and calm, at least until they weren’t, but Stiles doesn’t understand how this will help him._

_Eleanor doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even move. She just keeps her eyes closed, her breathing leveled._

_“So how did you get into this magic business?” Stiles asks, because it’s something to do. Eleanor sighs, and she opens her eyes. She blinks at him. Her eyes are dark brown, just like Scott’s._

_“Family business,” She says, simply. “My grandma was Satomi’s emissary. My mom was supposed to take over, but after she died, there was just me.”_

_There isn’t any grief in her voice, which tells Stiles that it all happened a long time ago. “Did she teach you meditation?”_

_Eleanor smiles. “Doing magic is similar to meditating. When you do it, you have to feel the world around you, feel the natural magic in the air, and push and pull it, just like your breathing.”_

_Stiles thinks about that. “Do you think I’ll be able to do it?”_

_Eleanor grins, “from what I’ve heard, you already have.”_

_Stiles looks at his hands. They’d smooth and still and strong. They’re clean, despite sitting in the grass, and not bloody. Stiles doesn’t remember when his hands haven’t been bloody, whether from Scott or Derek or himself._

_He closes his eyes, and works on feeling his breathing. Feeling the air enter his lungs, feeling them expand, and then deflate as the air leaves. He feels himself. Feels the way his stomach grows with the breath. Feels the way it feels to feel. In and out. Push and pull. In and out._

_When Stiles opens his eyes, Eleanor is gone. He doesn’t really care, because for the first time, Stiles feels relaxed._

?

Stiles is meditating, sitting on the bed next to Eli as he naps, when his phone rings. It startles him, because no one has called him since he left Massachusetts. He had told everyone he needed time, had quit his job, pulled Eli out of school. No one here had his number, except for his dad, but he’s down in the kitchen, getting ready for another night shift.

Stiles pulls his cellphone out and rushes into the hallway, leaving Eli. He looks at the caller ID and frowns. “Detective Mattson,” he says as he answers.

“Stiles,” the man on the other line says, “I told you to call me Mark.”

“Mark is lame,” Stiles says, “and I haven’t thought of a new nickname yet, so you’re just going to have to deal.”

He hears the detective sigh, but he isn’t really worried. Him and Mark are friends, going back before Justin was murdered, and he had taken it upon himself to investigate after everything happened.

“How are you?” Mark says, and Stiles huffs.

“Fine,” he answers, “why are you calling?”

Mark knows better than anyone what Stiles is going through. His wife died two years ago, a hit and run. He was the one who suggested Stiles get away, the one who told him to turn off his phone. Him calling Stiles now means something isn’t right.

“There’s going to be a trial,” he says, and Stiles feels his heart drop.

“I thought she was pleading guilty?” He hisses, and he feels tears burning his eyes. “She literally walked up to the police and said ‘I did it.’ How more cut and dry can you get?”

“Her lawyer is pleading insanity,” Mark says, “She keeps saying Justin was a monster. She has a few people convinced she is nuts.”

Stiles is angry. He wants to punch something. He really wants to punch the dumb girl in the face, but he’s going to have to settle for a wall or a tree or his car, because she’s a couple hundred miles away.

This is stupid. Stiles can’t even speak, because the person who murdered his husband is going to get off, because Stiles can’t tell anyone he actually was a monster. He can’t tell anyone that she murdered him because she saw Justin shift, because then he’ll looks nuts, too.

“It’s not over,” Mark says, but Stiles doesn’t believe him. “We have witnesses, her college transcript, things that say she was mentally stable at the time of the murder, but we’re going to need you to testify.”

Stiles closes his eyes, trying to stop his heart from beating so fast. He thinks he might die here, because everything hurts. His heart, his head, his throat. Just when things were getting to be okay, this had to happen.

“When?” He finally asks.

There’s a pause, and then Mark is saying, “Not for a while. Her lawyer is doing all he can to push the date back. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you,” he hears himself say, and then he hangs up.

He sits on the hallway floor, clutching his chest, trying to stop the tears that are falling down his face. Insanity. She’s pleading insanity.

He looks at his hands. They’re shaking. Or maybe it’s just all of him shaking.


	6. Part Two: Assimilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter signifies the beginning of part 2, where Stiles moves from being a guest to being a part of the community.

_“Is that really something you should be doing in the living room?” Stiles asks, interrupting the werewolf wrestle match that is currently happening right in front of his bay window. He drops his keys onto the table by the door, and looks at his husband and child with mild annoyance. “What if the neighbors see?”_

_Justin runs a hand through his hair, pulling his face back until it’s human again. “Mrs. Sherwin can’t see anything that isn’t two feet in front of her.”_

_“And what about Hailey?” Stiles asks, “She’s nosy.”_

_Justin pauses, because Hailey just moved next door, and they really know nothing about her, beyond that she’s a college student with a trust fund. She seems nice enough, innocent, but Stiles has caught her peeking at them through her windows more than once._

_“Hailey isn’t a threat,” Justin says, which means that Hailey is human. But Stiles knows a lot of humans who have done pretty terrible things. Himself included._

_“I saw her putting crosses around her windows. And she sneers at us a lot,” he says, and Justin huffs._

_“She’s homophobic,” he says, “Not homicidal.”_

_Stiles looks at his son. His face is still furry, his eyes still golden, and he’s watching his parents closely. He sighs._

_“Come here, pup,” he says, and Eli scampers over to him, whining quietly. Stiles scoops him up, burying his face into the pup’s fur, and Eli sighs in relief. Stiles runs a hand through his soft, brown hair, and looks at Justin. He knows these wrestle matches are important, knows that the only way Eli will learn control is by actually shifting, but life has been too quiet lately. He can’t help but feel like a tornado’s coming._

_“You’re being paranoid,” Justin says, and Stiles nods. He’s right. Everything is fine._

_He lets Eli go back to Justin, and suddenly there’s claws and growls and snapping teeth. He draws the curtains, and even though he knows Justin is right, there’s a dark feeling in his stomach that won’t go away._

?

“Go ahead and pick what you want,” Stiles says. He’s standing in front of the frozen section at the local general store. He had decided that after four days in Beacon Hills, Eli should probably eat something other than macaroni and pancakes. And donuts, because Tara dropped off _another_ box last night.

He knows that Eli will need something nutritional if he’s going to start training with Derek.

Stiles looks to his left. He’s supposed to see Eli standing there, one finger to his lips as he ponders between dinosaur or smiley face chicken nuggets, (Stiles doesn’t understand how there can even be a competition, dinosaurs all the way) but his son isn’t there.

Stiles freaks out, because Eli hasn’t left his side in a week and a half, and he’s still a little on edge about being in Beacon Hills, because nothing good happens in Beacon Hills, plus there’s a murdering witch somewhere out there, and Stiles is on the verge of a panic attack before he hears Eli giggle and say, “you can’t do that.”

Stiles whirls around, looking through the boxes of lettuce and oranges until he sees Eli’s brown hair. He walks around the stands, and comes up behind his son, who is talking to a little girl eating an apple.

“Yes I can,” she says, grinning at Eli around her bite. They’re standing next to an apple stand. Stiles realizes that this child has just stole an apple.

But the girl can’t be any older than Eli. She’s tiny, at least six inches shorter than his son, her face thin and her hands small. She has tight blond curls spilling around her face, and her eyes are blue and warm and sparkle with humor and innocence.

Stiles kneels next to Eli. The girl looks at him, hitting Stiles hard with her rosy cheeks and button nose. This kid is fucking adorable.

“Hi sweetie,” Stiles says, and the girl grins. Stiles feels his heart flutter. “Is your mommy or daddy around?”

She tilts her head, thinking for a moment, before she says, “My daddy is looking at cereal.”

Stiles nods, “Do you want to go find him?”

She shakes her head no. “He says I have to eat cheerios. Says he’s tired of me eating sugary shit. I’m mad at him.”

Stiles is only slightly surprised. Eli laughs again, and repeats, “Shit.”

Stiles is going to hell.

“Let’s go find him,” he says, cheerily, and he jumps to his feet. He holds a hand out for the girl, and she takes it eagerly. Stiles should probably have a talk with this dad about stranger danger, if his child is so willing to go along with anyone.

Eli and the girl chat back and forth, talking about favorite cereals and whether or not smiley face or dinosaur chicken nuggets are better. The girl says dinosaur, and Stiles loves her even more.

They round the corner into the cereal aisle, and Stiles stops, pulling Eli to his side, as the girl shrieks and yells, “Daddy!” She runs forward, diving into the waiting arms of Jackson Whittemore.

Stiles wants to turn around, wants to take Eli and run, because he is tired and isn’t ready to face Jackson after almost ten years. Jackson is sitting on the floor, running a hand through his daughter’s hair, nuzzling her face. He isn’t even looking at him. Stiles would doubt that Jackson knows he’s here expect that he’s a werewolf and he probably knew the second Stiles stepped in the store.

This also explains why Jackson didn’t feel the need to teach his daughter safety lessons. Jackson probably knew exactly where she was the whole time. Oh god, Stiles thinks, what if this was all a trap to get Stiles into the same aisle as him?

Jackson leans away from the girl so he can look her in the eye. “Victoria,” he says, sternly, “how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing strangers to me like they’re stray puppies?”

“But he smells so sad!” Victoria says. She turns to look at Stiles and Eli. “He needs a friend!”

Jackson ignores her, and continues with his parental rant. “And how many times do I have to tell you to stop saying shit?”

“Mom says your werewolf hearing is cheating!” She yells.

Out of all the weird things Stiles has seen in Beacon Hills, watching Jackson Whittemore parent is the weirdest of all.

Jackson and Victoria turn to look at them then, and Stiles is met with the beauty of both of them. Stiles can see the resemblance, in the eyes and the ears and the shoulders, but where Jackson is hard, Victoria is soft. Jackson is frowning, and Victoria is grinning like she’s won a new toy.

“Um, hi,” Stiles says, lamely.

“I’m sorry about Victoria,” Jackson says, and he’s equally uncomfortable. “She has some weird obsession with saving the world. I honestly don’t know where she gets it.”

“Mom says I get it from her because you’re an ass.”

“Victoria!” Jackson says.

It’s all too much. Everything. First there’s Derek, being nice to him, being concerned about him, and then Hayden, trying to protect him from a murdering witch, and now there’s Jackson. At first, Stiles isn’t sure if he’s going to laugh or cry, but then he’s wheezing out a sharp laugh, and then he’s doubling over as he giggles.

He probably looks crazy. He feels crazy. He feels like everything about the last week has been one big psychotic break. Maybe he’s actually somewhere else. Maybe he’s in a hospital somewhere, and Justin is still alive, and all of this has just been a terrible nightmare.

Jackson looks at him, and he frowns. He looks older, maybe even a little nicer, but Stiles isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get over what Jackson was like at sixteen.

Jackson frowns, and he quietly asks, “Are you okay?”

And that’s when you know you’re really fucked, isn’t it? When Jackass Shitmore is actually being nice to you.

“No,” Stiles answers, truthfully. He tugs Eli even closer, until the child is squirming around his legs. “I’m not.”

“Well take your depression somewhere else,” Jackson says, “It stinks.”

Stiles doesn’t know why that’s so comforting, but something about Jackson being an ass makes Stiles feel like maybe everything hasn’t changed, and maybe the world isn’t shit. Jackson doesn’t look like he really wants Stiles to leave, and Victoria is rolling her eyes at her father, but the words are comforting nonetheless. Maybe Stiles is broken.

Eli breaks away from Stiles, and he looks up at his dad and says, “Pawpaw?"

“Pup,” Stiles says softly, “I’m okay.”

He’s not. Everyone here knows it. Everyone in this town knows it. But he can’t let Eli know it.

Eli looks unsure, and Stiles kneels down and says, “Maybe we can finish grocery shopping tomorrow. How about we go get some ice cream?”

“Oh!” Victoria says, and she looks up at Jackson, “Can we go too?”

Jackson looks uncertain. There’s still tension between the two, probably from all the years of bullying and competing for Lydia’s affection (it wasn’t really a competition. Jackson always won, and Stiles hated him for it). But there’s some sort of understanding in Jackson’s eyes.

“What have I told you about all the sugar?” Jackson says, and Victoria starts to pout. This girl’s puppy dog eyes can rival Eli’s, and all of a sudden Stiles has Eli doing to exact same thing.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Jackson looks over at Stiles and shrugs.

If someone had told Stiles that he would eventually end up at the local Beacon Hills candy store, eating vanilla ice cream with Jackson Whittemore while their kids fight over what candy is the best, Stiles probably would’ve laughed. But that’s exactly where he is, four days after his return.

Jackson isn’t looking at him, which is fine because Stiles is trying his hardest to focus on the sucker display. Eli and Victoria are on the verge of shouting, Eli fighting for grape suckers to get the recognition they deserve, and Victoria telling him he’s dumb and obviously cherry suckers are the best.

Jackson catches Stiles’ eye and he sighs. “Kids,” he mutters.

“When did you become a dad?” Stiles asks, because he never thought about any of the Beacon Hills crew having families, and even if he had, he doesn’t think he’d ever imagined Jackson settling down.

Jackson shrugs, “Wasn’t exactly in the plan. Me and her mom weren’t together, still aren’t. But we’re friends.”

Stiles can understand that. The way Eli is being raised isn’t necessarily traditional. Who’s he to judge how Jackson raises his daughter?

“So you came back to Beacon Hills?” Stiles asks, and Jackson snorts.

“Honestly, once I left, I swore I was never coming back, but when I looked into Victoria’s eyes, I realized I needed to take her to somewhere safe.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Stiles says, because Beacon Hills is not safe.

“This is my home,” Jackson says, “and it’s probably the safest place to raise a werewolf.”

Stiles goes quiet after that, not really sure what to say. That’s why he brought Eli here, isn’t it? Because it was safe. Because he knew Eli wouldn’t get hurt here.

“I’m just thankful she has a mom that’s willing to move to a completely different country,” Jackson says, and he looks at Victoria with pride.

?

_“Is it just you and your brother?” Stiles asks as Eloise towel dries her hair. It’s darker when it’s wet. Like a deep burgundy color. It fascinates him._

_“Nick,” she says, “my brother is named Nick. And my parents live here, my sister lived her a while back, but she’s engaged and living with that pack now.”_

_Stiles thinks about that. He isn’t really sure why he agreed to spend the night, or how he ended up in Eloise’s bed, her half naked after a shower, and him staring at the walls of pictures she has. She has ones of her and her brother and a blond girl with dark brown eyes._

_“What about your pack?” He asks. Eloise chooses then to look at him, turning away from her vanity and smiling._

_“My grandpa is the alpha,” she says, “my sister and I are named after him. It’s a sign of respect to name at least one child after the current alpha. My sister and I are twins, so my dad named us both.”_

_“She’s the blond one?” He asks, pointing to a picture on the wall. There’s Eloise, tall and beautiful, leaning against a smaller girl. There’s a resemblance, they have the same eyes and nose._

_Eloise nods. “Elizabeth,” she says, “we’re not identical, obviously.”_

_Stiles snorts._

_“What’s your grandpa’s name?” He asks, because it’s something to do, and he’s also kinda curious about this girl._

_“Elliot,” she says. She lays down next to Stiles, resting her head on her hand. “What about you? What was your alpha’s name?”_

_Stiles huffs, but he supposes that it’s fair for her to ask him questions, too._

_“Scott,” he answers._

_Eloise smiles. Stiles likes when she smiles. It makes him less nervous. “Should’ve known you were from Beacon Hills.”_

_Stiles raises an eyebrow. “You’ve heard about him?”_

_Eloise shrugs, like it’s really no big deal, and says, “Everyone’s heard about the werewolf who forced his eyes red.”_

_Stiles rolls his eyes. Of course, Deaton has probably bragged to everyone in the supernatural community about his true alpha._

_Eloise reaches out, twirling Stiles’ hair in her hands. She hums, looking at him with dark eyes. “Do you have a girlfriend?” She asks, and Stiles suddenly can’t feel his hands._

_“No,” he croaks out, and Eloise laughs. “Do you?”_

_“No. A boyfriend?” Stiles takes in her words, and he thinks about Derek, somewhere in South America. He doesn’t have a boyfriend, but he has a boy who has his heart. He has a boy who comes in his dreams, whispering soft words into his ears, touching him._

_“No,” Stiles settles on, and Eloise smiles again._

_“Me neither,” She says. She leans in like maybe she’s going to kiss him, and Stiles’ heart starts to thump, but before their lips touch, she laughs._

_“Goodnight, Stiles,” She says, and she turns away._

?

As Stiles and Eli make their way back to his father’s house, Stiles thinks about what he’s doing here. He’s here for Eli. Here to protect him and lean on his father, but what is he going to do?

Stiles never thought past getting here, but now that he’s here, he realizes he can’t live in his dad’s house forever, and his savings will eventually run out. He’s already gone through a couple grand just getting here.

He drives down the streets, looking at the familiar houses, and thinks.

When he looks up at Eli, the kid is chattering about Victoria, and how she’s not really as pretty as Mary Jane, but she does look a little like Gwen Stacy. He looks happy. Stiles doesn’t think Eli has ever had a friend that was a werewolf. He wonders how that must feel, knowing you’re not alone.

He has to go back to Massachusetts. He has to testify in Justin’s murder trial, and he still has a house full of memories and furniture.

Still, he knows he can’t go back. He had known that coming here means never going back. He couldn’t go back. Not without Justin, and not knowing that there are people here who want to help him.

He pulls into his dad’s driveway. Eli jumps out without a moment hesitation, and he runs into the house so he can tell his dad all about Victoria and Jackson and ice cream.

Stiles is going to have to start making long term plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note: I planned this fic out before Jackson came back on the show, so before I knew he was gay. Victoria was a major part of my story, so Jackson is bi in this story. He and Victoria's mom were FWB, and don't worry, he's going to be in a relationship with a guy.


	7. A New Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I'm so sorry this took forever. It was just that suddenly I was really busy, and it was hard to find time to write and edit. But here it is, and I promise to post at least 1 chapter a week.

_Stiles tries to step around the charred wood and splinters, tiptoeing like a ballerina, but he’s never really been coordinated. He missteps, and slips slightly, almost falling on his ass. He manages to right himself, but he doesn’t miss the way Derek steps forward, like he was prepared to catch him._

_Derek turns away from him, a scowl on his face as he mutters, “Be careful. The last thing I need is to be taking the sheriff’s son to the hospital.”_

_Stiles chooses to ignore his comment. Mostly because he knows that’s only surface Derek talking. Somewhere deep down, Derek likes Stiles. And Stiles is willing to dig and dig until he finds it._

_“So where was your room?” Stiles asks, walking through the remains of the Hale house. They’re in, what Stiles assumes, is the living room. There’s wide windows and pieces of built in book shelves._

_Derek huffs, but points to what was once a grand stair case. “Upstairs.”_

_“Shame,” Stiles says, because there’s no one he’s attempting those stairs, “I would’ve loved to see where baby Derek spent all his time.”_

_“Stiles,” Derek says, losing patience, “I only brought you here to look for my mom’s old papers, and because I knew if I didn’t agree you’d come by yourself, and probably get yourself killed. So can we look for the papers and get out of here?”_

_“Don’t pretend like you don’t love spending time with me,” Stiles says, and he turns to wiggle his eyebrows at Derek. The older male rolls his eyes, and turns away, going towards what looks like a kitchen. “You love me Derek, don’t deny it.”_

_“I don’t even tolerate you,” Derek answers. Stiles snorts, because that’s obviously a lie._

_Stiles has never done good with silence. In school, when he’s supposed to take tests, he taps on the desk, trying to fill his ears with something. Here, it’s painfully quiet. Even their footsteps are silent. And it smells like smoke and feels like death._

_“Would you rather be here, with me, or at your loft, listening to the depressing sound of your lonely life?”_

_“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, and Stiles can give him that._

_“I may be ridiculous, but you’re the one who’s in love with me, so what does that make you?” Stiles asks, and Derek huffs again. He turns, looking at Stiles with a mix of annoyance and something fond._

_Stiles steps around a hole in the floor, and comes up in front of Derek. He looks at him, watching the way Derek shifts uncomfortably. He grins. “Come on Derek,” he says, “We’re all alone. No one will know if you kiss me.”_

_Derek looks tempted, and they’re so close. Derek could lean forward, and they could kiss, hidden away deep in the woods._

_Derek stops, and says, “Stiles.”_

_“Why not?” He asks, frustrated. He knows he hasn’t imagined what’s between them. He knows that Derek steals looks when he thinks Stiles isn’t watching, and Stiles definitely has fantasy about what Derek could do to him. Maybe they’re not perfect, but they’re something real and true._

_Derek looks pained, like he doesn’t really know what to say. He says, “You deserve something better,” and Stiles groans._

_“Dammit Derek,” he says, shaking his head, “Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I’m too good for you. There’s nothing better than you.”_

_“Stiles,” Derek says, and he steps away from him, pointing cold air where his body heat once was. “You don’t need to get stuck in this life. You’re human. You deserve something normal.”_

_Stiles isn’t sure what normal is anymore. What does Derek expect from him? A white picket fence and a wife and two kids?_

_“That is not-” Stiles begins, but then Derek is shaking his head._

_“No,” he says, “stop.”_

_So Stiles stops, because he isn’t about to pathetically beg for Derek to love him, for Derek to want him. At least not today._

_He goes back to the living room and looks through the few books that aren’t completely destroyed. He tries to ignore his heart breaking in his chest and the quiet._

?

Stiles shouldn’t be surprised that the Hale house, like everything else in this town, has changed. He was always used to the house being a burned pile of wood, serving as a dark metaphor for Derek’s life. Now, the house stands tall and beautiful, and Stiles supposes it still could be a metaphor, but it’s a life Stiles doesn’t know.

Eli is jumping in his booster behind Stiles. He gasps in Stiles’ ear, and says, “a real castle.”

The house does look like a castle. It’s big, with red bricks and vines creeping up the sides. There’s a large fountain in the middle of the driveway, and marble statues guarding each door. Stiles looks at Derek.

“They were Cora’s idea,” he says, but there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“Of course, blame the girl,” Stiles says. Derek sighs, and parks in front of the front door. Eli is shaking in his seat, and he’s jumping out of the car and running for the door before Stiles has a chance to yell stop.

Derek laughs beside him as Eli yells, “I want to see the princess.”

“Please tell me Cora isn’t in there,” Stiles says, putting a hand to his forward. He’s tired, even after getting a full night’s sleep.

Derek looks a little empathetic. “She is.”

“Your sister is going to eat my son,” Stiles says, and he unbuckles his seatbelt and follows his Eli into the house.

Eli isn’t in the doorway, but he can hear little feet pattering on the floor somewhere to his left. In front of him, there’s a large staircase, leading to a hallway that splits in three directions. It’s full of natural light, large windows covering almost every wall, and it’s open and airy and smells like wood and flowers.

“When did you rebuild it?” Stiles asks, running his hand along the wall. The paint is light blue and free of blemishes, which tells Stiles that either Derek doesn’t bring kids around here often, or the paint is new.

“We finished two years ago,” Derek says, and he follows Stiles as he walks into the living room.

There’s a wall of book shelves, cut in the middle by a window seat. There’s lots of light and seating and no TV. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Cora and I and Isaac live here,” Derek continues. Stiles doesn’t know why, but Derek sounds awkward, like he’s showing Stiles something personal. Maybe he is. Maybe this house, this place where there love died seven years ago, is meaningful somehow. Maybe Derek’s worried that it’s Stiles’ turn to break his heart.

“Seems a bit big for only you three,” Stiles says, “I’m surprised you didn’t let the whole pack move in.”

“There isn’t a house big enough,” Derek says, and Stiles isn’t sure if that means the pack has grown, or if Derek can’t stand most of the people in it. Stiles is hoping for the latter of the two.

Stiles continues into the kitchen, where he sees Eli jumping excitedly in front of a rather amused Cora Hale. “Papa,” he says, out of breath, “Look. I found the princess.”

“You sure did, pup,” Stiles says. Cora is as devastatingly beautiful as she was the last time he saw her. She’s still all long limbs and dark, dangerous eyes, but there’s a softness to her lips, and a curve to her belly, telling Stiles that she’s going to have to prepare for a little cub soon.

She smiles at Eli, and takes his hand. “You sure are a cute pup, aren’t you?” She says.

Eli looks at her in awe, and Stiles can’t help the snort. Eli doesn’t notice, probably too caught up in his adoration and fascination, but Cora’s eyes light up as she looks at him.

“Derek told me you were back, but I didn’t really believe it until now,” She says, and she lets Eli clamper up into her arms. He’s pushing his face into her hair, and Stiles knows Eli hasn’t been around many girls before, but the boy needs to chill.

“It’s all the town’s talking about,” Stiles says in return.

“I don’t go out much,” Cora says, and she wrinkles her nose. “Too many old ladies want to touch my stomach.”

Eli looks down from her neck, looking at the bulge he’s currently sitting on. He looks fascinated, and he runs one hand across it.

Cora doesn’t look like she minds Eli touching her, and Stiles doesn’t know how to feel about that. “It’s beating,” he says, tilting his head down.

“That’s a heartbeat,” Cora says, and Eli’s eyes grow big.

“There’s a person in there?” He asks, and Stiles shifts, because this conversation is going places he doesn’t want to go.

“Hey, pup,” Stiles says, drawing both Cora’s and Eli’s attention back to him, “We’re here to play with Derek, remember?”

“Can the princess play too?” Eli asks.

“No, pup,” Stiles says, and there’s a darkness around Cora now, like she’s ready to kick his ass if he says she can’t fight because she’s pregnant. “I’m afraid she’s too strong for you. Better to start off easy, right?”

Derek glares at him, but if he’s being honest, he’s pretty sure Cora could kick all their asses. There’s something about her that says she’s more wolf than human, and Stiles is pretty sure she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he crossed her. At least Derek would pause before eating him.

Eli pouts, but he jumps off of Cora and looks over at Derek expectantly.

“Let’s go outside,” Derek suggests, and he leads them to the back porch, where Stiles takes a seat on the steps. It’s their first time training, and Derek had told Stiles he was just going to get a feel of Eli’s power. Derek is off with Eli, running around the large back yard, wolf faces on but claws still tucked in their fingers.

Cora sits next to him, watching her brother and Eli.

“He really is cute,” she says.

“Thanks.”

She drums her fingers against her stomach softly. She looks young, even though she’s older than him. And she’s beautiful.

“Anyone I know?” Stiles asks, and Cora looks at him.

“Isaac,” she answers, and Stiles pauses. Isaac and Cora? Together? For real? He’s surprised, but not surprised at the same time. Like he never imagined it, but now that it’s happened he can see why.

“How far along?”

“Eight months,” She answers. She doesn’t look worried, she looks sure and calm and happy. Stiles wonders when everyone in this town suddenly got happy. Is he the only black spot?

“Do you know the gender?” He asks. He’s running through the list of customary questions, but Cora looks content talking about her baby.

“We’re leaving it a surprise,” she says, “the nursery is yellow. Derek knows, though. He was screwing our doctor, and she let it slip.”

Stiles feels hurt, and he doesn’t know why. It’s a sharp pain, stabbing his heart, and it’s so real, even though he knows nothing is actually cutting him. It hurts, and it shouldn’t, because Stiles doesn’t own Derek. Stiles should’ve expected that he had a life, and a house and a job and a pretty girlfriend. Stiles shouldn’t want Derek, because he doesn’t even know Derek anymore, and his husband just died.

He’s going to hell. He’s actually going to hell, and he’s probably on his way right now, because his heart hurts so bad he can’t breathe.

Eli and Derek pause, and they’re looking at Stiles with concern. Eli takes a step forward, and Stiles jumps up, flailing his arms.

“I’m fine, pup. Just stay with Derek,” he says, and he rushes into the house.

He doesn’t know if Cora follows him. She probably doesn’t, because she knows why he’s hurting right now. He starts opening doors, trying to find a bathroom or a closet to hide in. He finds a pantry, a laundry room, a storage room with chains that kind of scares him. He goes upstairs and wanders.

He finds the nursery, full of elephant pictures and story books, a handmade crib and a rocking chair. He pauses, looking at the room, thinking about Eli when he was a baby.

He didn’t have anything fancy like this. But he had love.

He walks on, and he finds what he imagines is Cora and Isaac’s bedroom, so he turns and goes the other way.

He shoulders his way into a room, and he realizes that it must be Derek’s. There’s a large bed in the middle, with a leather jacket and a pair of jeans thrown on it. There’s piles of books everywhere, on the night stand, on the chair in the corner, on the ledge of the window and on the floor. He pauses, looking at the various books in various languages. There’s dictionaries and reference books and fiction, all thrown about in no apparent pattern.

Stiles should leave. This is Derek’s personal space. It’s probably where he fucked that doctor. He really should turn around and find Eli, but there’s a bulletin board, full of evidence photos and questions, that catch his eye.

Derek has the latest Beacon Hill mystery displayed in his bedroom, pictures from the (now four) victims, information on their lives, their last known whereabouts, their causes of death.

It’s been forever since Stiles last solved a mystery. He doesn’t even watch crime shows. They remind him too much of his dad, and too much of the life he should’ve had, had Scott not kicked him out.

Still, Stiles can’t look away from the information in front of him. He can’t help but wonder what a witch might be trying to accomplish by murdering these random people.

Stiles stares at the wall, and he can’t see a connection. The people are random. The places they killed are different. They’re all different genders and ages and body types.

Stiles isn’t really sure how long he’s up there, but he’s interrupted by Derek knocking on the door. He blushes and apologizes, and Derek asks if he’s found anything.

He hasn’t. There aren’t any connections, and maybe there isn’t supposed to be. Maybe it’s completely random. Maybe it’s something Stiles shouldn’t get involved in.

Derek offers to take him and Eli home. The car ride is awkward and tense, full of Eli chattering about Cora and Derek mumbling about Eli’s powers. He has a lot of control, but he’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to use his powers. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Stiles doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

?

_Stiles has his legs pulled tight into his chest, his head resting on his knees. He can feel his heart, a steady and constant thud. He listens, quietly, as he watches waves rolling into the beach._

_He’s from California, but he’s only ever been to the ocean once. His mom took him, right before she died, because it was where she grew up._

_He watches the wave pull into the shore, eating the sand, before pulling back. It smells like salt and there’s kids giggling and birds screeching._

_“Are you okay?” Eloise asks, dropping down next to him. She hands him a vanilla ice cream cone, and licks at her own chocolate one._

_“Is this a date?” Stiles asks, and Eloise looks at him. She looks like she’s trying to decide if she should laugh. “Are we dating?”_

_“Are you really that upset at the prospect of us dating?” She asks, but she doesn’t sound hurt._

_Stiles readjusts himself, stretching his legs out and licking his own ice cream. “No,” he answers, “I was just thinking. I haven’t been to the beach in forever.”_

_Eloise shakes her head, and she looks out at the beach in front of them. It had been her idea to pack up and drive to the ocean. She had called it an adventure. “We’re not dating,” she says, and Stiles isn’t sure if he should be offended, “We’re just having fun.”_

_It’s been two months since he’s met Eloise, and he has to admit they’ve been having some pretty intimate fun._

_But Stiles doesn’t feel like she’s his girlfriend. He isn’t thinking about a future, about a house and marriage and kids, like he thought about when he was around Lydia or Malia or Derek. Stiles hasn’t been thinking much about anything these last two months, and it is a lot of fun._

_“You’re being too quiet. It’s freaking me out,” Eloise says, and Stiles looks at her._

_“Why am I here?” He asks. He knows she understands him, understands his question. She knows it goes beyond this beach or Washington or even life. Stiles wants to know how he ended up next to her._

_Eloise Schaffer is like a wish being granted. It’s like she’s everything Stiles ever needed. She’s free and open and fun, and she makes Stiles feel like he doesn’t have to hide anymore._

_Eloise smiles at him, and she runs a hand through his hair. It’s long, even longer than it was in Beacon Hills. “life is shit 99 percent of the time, but sometimes it hands you exactly what you wanted.”_

_“This isn’t going to last,” Stiles says, because nothing good ever lasts, at least not for him._

_“Probably not,” Eloise says, honestly, “that’s why we’re having fun. So that when it’s over, at least we’ll have memories.”_

_Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. He doesn’t have very many good memories. There’s some there, but most of them have been darkened by life. He can’t think about good times with Scott or his dad or Melissa, because they all get him thinking about Beacon Hills, and about the boy he killed and the life he was kicked out of. Without them, there isn’t much to think about._

_“I’m pregnant, by the way,” Eloise says, and Stiles jerks up, looking at the girl next to him. She isn’t looking at him, she’s watching the waves with dark eyes, but the corner of her mouth tilts up. “Sorry, you were being too serious.”_

_“That’s really not something you should joke about,” Stiles says, clutching at his heart._

_Eloise laughs, and it’s loud and unguarded and it makes Stiles laugh too. “Can you imagine, me as a mom?”_

_“You’d be a great mom,” Stiles says, and he’s sure of it._

_Eloise crinkles her nose, “Well yeah, if I have to do it.” She looks at Stiles with wide eyes and a curved mouth. “But I’m not done having fun yet.”_

_“Me neither,” Stiles says back, and suddenly her eyes are dark and mischievous._

_“There’s a place farther down that no one goes to. We could probably have some fun there.”_

_And then she’s running, her shirt flapping, her long legs taking her down the shore line, and Stiles is chasing after her, their ice cream long forgotten._

?

Stiles thinks about a lot of things as he’s flipping through the pamphlet for Beacon Hill’s only elementary school. He thinks about Derek, and what he had said on Saturday as he pulled into the sheriff’s house.

_“Stiles, Eli needs to like it here. He needs to be comfortable. If he isn’t, then I can’t help him.”_

He thinks about Eleanor, and the witch terrorizing the town, and about Eloise and Justin. He knows what Derek means. He knows that if he wants Derek to help his son, he has to figure out a way to turn Beacon Hills into his home, but home has always been about people for Stiles, and this place is just full of too many people he hates.

He thinks about the beach. Maybe he could take Eli there? Maybe he’ll smell the salt and feel the cold water, and it’ll remind him of better times.

“Mr. Stilinski?” The receptionist says, and Stiles looks up at her, setting the pamphlet back onto the table. She’s smiling at him, and she says, “Mrs. Hart will see you now.”

He follows the woman through a door, and takes a seat in front of a large oak desk. Mrs. Hart was once Stiles’ teacher, nearly twenty years ago, and he’s happy she’s made it all the way up to principal. He had loved her when he was in school.

She smiles at him, and it’s the kind of smile that lights up her whole face. She stands up, and she opens her arms wide, and Stiles awkwardly stands and shifts into her embrace.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you again,” She laughs, patting his head, “It’s so good to see you, Stiles.”

Stiles hugs her back, and then she’s pulling away. “It’s good to see you, too,” he says, partly because of formality, but also partly because she really was his favorite teacher.

“And you have a son,” She says, giddy, “how exciting.”

Stiles nods, and she goes back to her side of the desk. She sits, and pulls out a folder, opening it to show the papers inside.

“On the phone you said he was five?” She asks, and Stiles nods his head. “So you’re looking into our preschool program, then?”

Stiles nods. “He was in preschool before we moved,” he answers, and Mrs. Hart gives him a sad look.

“Well there’s a lot to go over,” She says, and she starts paging through her paperwork. “We have two classes, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. They each meet 3 times a week for three hours. Both classes have openings, so which ever one works better for you. I would also like to know the school he was in before. I’d like to get in contact with his teachers, just to get an understanding of his education up until this point.”

Stiles nods hesitantly. When he had first put Eli into school, Justin was there to help him. Now he’s all by himself, and he’s already overwhelmed.

“There’s some financial information we’ll need to go over. Tuition is typically about 5000 dollars a year, but there’s aid you can apply for. I’ll give you the paper work, and if you need any help you can call,” She smiles at him, and slips a couple pieces of paper back into the folder. “I’ll also need Eli’s medical history, any and all vaccines he has, any illness and allergies, a report of a recent physical.”

Stiles stares, gaping at her, feeling incredibly overwhelmed. He looks at his hands, quiet, and she reaches out to him.

“I’m going to put all the paper work into this folder, and you can take it home and look it over. If you need help you can call.”

Stiles looks up at her, thankful, and takes the folder as she hands it to him.

She smiles, and says, “now onto the good part. Do you want to take a tour?”

Stiles doesn’t really care about the tour, but he knows he has to. It’s his obligation as a parent, so he follows her out into the hallway.

“Our school has a daycare for young children, a preschool and the kindergarten. The older kids are in the school across the street, and then of course there’s the middle school and the high school. The infants and toddlers are in one half of the school, while the older kids are in the other. We do also have a program for parents who work during the day, and can't pick up their preschoolers.”

Stiles follows her, looking at the art work covered walls. It’s different from when he was in school. It’s more open and friendly.

He follows, and tries to listen to all the information she’s giving him. There’s a new playground outside, and a snacks and lunches are provided, and then there’s a bunch of things she forgets as she says them.

She ends the tour with a hug, and disappears back into her office, leaving Stiles at the front entrance with his folder and a gaping mouth.

“Stiles?” A voice says behind him, and he turns towards the side of the school they didn’t tour. Kira is standing there, a baby with wide brown eyes and chubby cheeks on her hip, and she’s smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Oh my gosh,” she says, her voice light and high. She shuffles forward, and throws one arm around Stiles.

Stiles is getting tired of all the hugs he’s getting. Especially since this is Scott McCall’s wife, and also his daughter, who is cooing adorably.

She’s cute. Jackson’s daughter is cute, Scott’s daughter is cute. Stiles is kind of scared to see what Isaac and Cora’s kid looks like. He might die of cuteness overload.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, and Kira grins.

“It’s so good to see you,” She says, and Stiles is almost certain that she’s lying. But Kira was never really good at lying, and she looks too genuine. When Stiles doesn’t say anything, Kira shows Stiles her daughter, saying, “This is Melanie Stiles McCall. We named her after you.”

Stiles looks at her, surprised. He definitely never imagined that happening. The girl laughs and smiles at him. “Your doctor must’ve thought you were an illiterate one direction fan.”

Kira laughs, and she looks at Melanie with a wide smile. “Are you thinking about putting your son into school here? They’re a wonderful center.”

Stiles smiles and looks awkwardly at the folder in his hand. “I’m considering it.”

“Not that you have many options,” Kira laughs, “I mean, Mrs. Reyes does still run her home daycare, but other than that, there’s really nothing.”

Stiles nods, and Kira’s face falls. She shifts awkwardly, adjusting Melanie on her hip, and says, “Well, I should get going. It was nice seeing you, Stiles.”

She leaves before Stiles can say anything, not that he really had anything to say, anyways.

He follows her out, walking to his own car, tossing the folder onto his passenger seat. He sits there, thinking, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel. He thinks. He thinks about Eli, at home with his dad, and he wonders if this is the best thing for him. He wonders, not for the first time, if coming back was a mistake.


	8. Pack Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a bit heavy? I dunno. Thanks for all the support!!

_“Pack Meeting,” Stiles says, scooping Eli up into his arms. He has just returned from work, a tiresome job at a gas station, and he’s a little upset to see his son awake at midnight._

_Justin pulls himself off of the floor, stretching his back like a cat._

_“We aren’t really a pack,” he says, but he follows Stiles into the kitchen anyways._

_“Why is Eli still awake?” Stiles asks, setting the almost-two-year-old into his high chair. He turns to give his boyfriend a dirty look. Justin puts his hands up in defense._

_“He wouldn’t go down. He wanted to see you!”_

_Eli is babbling, mumbling “papa” over and over, reaching out to touch Stiles. Stiles leans into the baby’s hand, snuggling him._

_“What did you want to talk about?” Justin asks, going to the fridge to make Stiles a sandwich._

_Stiles sighs. He leans his forehead against Eli’s, and the baby squeals and laughs. He smiles back, kissing his cheek, loving the way his son lights up whenever he walks into the room. “I’m quitting my job.”_

_Justin sighs. They have this conversation almost every day._

_“It’s a dumb job,” He begins, moving around the kitchen. The two dance around each other peacefully, knowing where the other is without even having to look. Justin moves to the fridge just as Stiles turns towards the cupboard, narrowly missing each other, but never colliding._

_“Everyone hates their job, Stiles,” Justin says, looking at his boyfriend with a surprising amount of patience._

_“But it’s a really dumb job,” he repeats, verging on whining. “Someone tried to rob us with a pocket knife._ A pocket knife. _Kevin Laughed so hard the guy ran away embarrassed.”_

_“Your boss probably shouldn’t laugh when people are trying to rob his store,” Justin says, and Stiles shrugs. Kevin’s a weird guy._

_Justin places Stiles’ sandwich on the cupboard, and pulls Stiles to him. Stiles rests his head on his chest, listening to his heart beating, a steady, strong thud. He closes his eyes and Justin runs a hand through his hair. Eli squeals in delight._

_“I know it’s hard,” Justin says, “School, work, a family. But you have one more year before graduation, and then you can do whatever you want.”_

_Stiles wants to go to sleep and not wake up for a week. He wants to run away to Ice Land or something. He doesn’t know why, once he finally wasn’t running away anymore, that he decided college was the best option for him._

_But he looks at the little boy, with big brown eyes and a mischievous smile, and he knows that he wants him to have a good life._

?

It’s three weeks after Justin’s death that the first article is written. Cleverly titled “The Girl who Cried Wolf” it lists all the details. It tells about the knife she used, taken from Stiles’ own kitchen. Tells how Stiles found him, bloody and motionless. How she walked right up to the police and confessed, and how now she’s pleading insanity, because she genuinely thinks that Justin was a werewolf set out to kill her.

It doesn’t tell about how Stiles had screamed, for five minutes straight, crying and pulling on Justin, begging him to open his eyes. It didn’t tell about the blood, covering every part of the kitchen, how it’s still there because Stiles couldn’t go in there to clean it, and how his blood had stained Stiles’ hands for four days. It doesn’t tell that Justin donated money to charities every week, that he spent his free time walking with Eli in the park, that he was a good, honest, loving person.

All it says is that the girl is insane, and that Justin is survived by his husband, Mieczyslaw “Stiles” Stilinski-Cavett, and their son.

Stiles would’ve just ignored the article. Would’ve closed the link on his phone and never thought about it again, but apparently Mason goes to NYU, and somehow the article went from there to here.

Which is how Isaac Lahey ended up outside his door, looking concerned and apologetic.

“What?” Stiles says, looking at Isaac with confusion all over his face.

Isaac shifts uncomfortably, and says, “If you need to talk, Stiles, you can come by my office.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Isaac. Isaac sighs, and he looks nervously around. Stiles isn’t really sure what he is so scared of right now. It’s not like Stiles is going to hurt him.

“I’m offering you a safe space,” Isaac says.

“You have got to be kidding,” Stiles hisses, throwing his hands in the air, looking up as if to ask God what is happening to him. He might be being a little rude. It probably took a lot of courage for Isaac to come here, but Stiles has been trying to get them all to leave him the hell alone.

Isaac looks hesitant, but then he’s look Stiles in the eyes and he’s saying, “We aren’t your enemy, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” He says, and maybe the article affected him more than he wants to admit. Maybe it made him sad and cranky and now he’s lashing out at Isaac, but he can’t help it. “I honestly feel so welcome here, considering your alpha kicked me out of his pack.”

Isaac loses any sense of uncertainty as he says, “That’s Scott’s biggest regret, and he’s been trying to make up for it every day since.”

“Really? Because I haven’t noticed. He’s never even apologized,” Stiles says.

Isaac doesn’t lose his cool, like Stiles is, but he does growl, “That’s because you weren’t here.”

That hits Stiles harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t regret leaving. He’s had some of the best, and worst, days of his life outside of Beacon Hills. Being on the outside felt like stretching and feeling the ache in his body ease, it felt like he was finally living. But he does have some guilt, over putting his father through hell and missing out on all the changes Beacon Hills has gone through.

Stiles is silent, so Isaac takes a step back. He says, “You don’t have to accept my offer, but know that it’s there.”

He watches Isaac walk away. There’s something inside him that wants to yell out to him. He wants to know what Isaac meant, when he said Scott’s been trying to make up for it. He wants to know that his absence meant something to him.

But Stiles doesn’t need to know the answer, because it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change that for the first half of his life, he felt like a side-kick for someone else’s story. It doesn’t change the fact that sometimes, things can’t be fixed. Some bad decisions are permanent.

He closes the door, and he hears his dad clear his throat behind him. He turns, and his dad is looking at him, his eyes thoughtful and dark.

“What?” He huffs.

“They just want to help,” his dad says, but he shakes his head when Stiles opens his mouth, “Everyone. Not just Scott or Isaac or Derek. Everyone wants to help. There’s four casseroles in the freezer from the neighbors, and Mary is constantly transferring calls into my office from people wondering how you’re doing. It’s okay to accept their offers, you know. And moving on and forgiving doesn’t hurt you.”

Stiles sighs, and he turns around and opens the door, walking outside. He doesn’t expect to see Isaac still standing there, because he made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to talk, but Isaac is.

He closes the door and walks up to him, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you still here?”

“I was hoping you’d come out,” Isaac says, and he looks awkward, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t.”

Stiles looks back at the house for a moment, but then he nods to Isaac and says, “I only have an hour before my dad leaves for work. Let’s walk.”

Isaac nods, and the pair start walking down the street, going past familiar houses and empty sidewalks. They’re silent, because Isaac isn’t going to push, and Stiles doesn’t feel like talking. Maybe this is why Isaac is so good at his job. He’s willing to just be there, a constant presence next to someone who’s hurting.

God, Stiles is hurting.

“I don’t want you to go all therapist on me,” he says, and Isaac snorts.

“I don’t even know what that means,” he answers.

“I don’t want you to try and fix me,” Stiles says.

Isaac shakes his head. “That’s not my job, Stiles. I don’t fix people.”

Stiles had gone to a therapist when he was younger, right after his mother died. All she had done was try to tell him what he was doing wrong, why he needed to stop thinking the way he did. Like it was easy for him to turn off the jitters, or easy for him to stop feeling. Maybe that’s why he’s so hesitant to talk to one now.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he begins, “people die. It’s a part of life. He was always going to die eventually.”

“but,” Isaac prompts, and Stiles closes his eyes.

“He died way too soon. We were married for only two years. It was like our life had just started, and suddenly it got snatched away, and now I have a house full of pieces of him and a hole in my heart,” he can feel tears now, rolling down his cheeks. They’re warm on his face. He wipes at them.

“I can’t imagine,” Isaac says, and he sounds genuine. “I think I’d go insane if Cora was murdered. I wouldn’t be able to be a dad on my own.”

“You wouldn’t have to be,” Stiles says, and it’s true. Derek and Scott and everyone would give up everything to be there for Isaac. The whole reason Stiles came back was because his dad was here, willing to help him.

“You don’t either,” Isaac says, and Stiles chooses to ignore his obvious ploy to get him to forgive Scott.

“I feel like this last three weeks, I’ve been someone else. Like I’m watching a movie. It’s hard to believe life can go from so good to so bad, so fast. When my mom died, we had months to prepare. I never even imagined this happening.”

“Life is a lot like a mountain range,” Isaac says, “there’s peaks and there’s valleys, highs and lows, but it always goes back up. It’ll be a climb, but it gets better.”

Stiles looks at Isaac, and he says, “there’s that therapist bullshit,” but it actually makes him feel better, like it’s something he needed to hear.

He thinks that he’s already on the journey back up.

Stiles looks in front of him. There’s a long, quiet street spilling on forever, and he wants to keep walking, to keep quiet, but he knows he has to turn around soon. So he asks the thing that’s been bugging him. “What did you mean when you said Scott was trying to make up for it?”

Isaac looks at Stiles out of the corner of his eyes, and he smiles. “I think you should come by our pack meeting tonight,” he says instead of answering. “Bring Eli. Jackson and Victoria will be there. Derek too.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stiles answers.

“It’s at our house,” Isaac answers, and he smiles warmly.

?

_“My grandpa is a little… old fashioned,” Eloise says. She looks nervous, and that makes Stiles nervous. He’s never seen her like this._

_He didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal, tagging along when Eloise and her brother went to their monthly pack meeting. Nick doesn’t really seem to care, but Eloise is acting like Stiles is going to die. Maybe he is. Maybe their monthly ritual is to sacrifice a human, but Stiles knows that Eloise wouldn’t let him in there if they were going to kill him._

_He looks at Nick and says, “What’s the deal with your grandpa?”_

_Nick shrugs. “He’s kind of a douche.”_

_Eloise huffs, and Stiles knows you’re not supposed to talk ill of your alpha._

_“He disowned our sister,” Nick explains, while Eloise flails her arms, “because she wanted to marry someone who was from another pack. We haven’t seen her in a year. If we even so much as talk to her, he’ll disown us, too.”_

_Stiles thinks about that. He doesn’t have a sibling. He’ll never known what that bond is like, but there was a time when Scott was like a brother, and losing him had been hell._

_“Why stay?” Stiles asks, and the pair shrug._

_“It’s not easy to detach from a pack,” Eloise says, and she looks sad, “and our aunt is cool. Once our grandpa dies and she takes over, it’ll all be fine. It’s just getting there that’s rough.”_

_Stiles thinks. He knows that it was hard to run away. Even without having to worry about them tracking his scent, thanks to Eleanor, he still feels the strained bonds, like rubber bands threatening to break, and he knows once they do, it’ll hurt like hell. Part of him misses them, like they’re a phantom limb, he can still feel them next to him, sometimes, but the majority of him can’t believe the hell they put him through._

_Stiles gets it. Had Scott not officially kicked him out, Stiles probably never would have left. And even with Scott hating him, had Lydia smiled at him in the hallway, or Malia nuzzled up to him like she used to, he probably would’ve stayed through college. Maybe he would have gotten married, bought a house, settled down there, but he lost almost everyone, and there was always the threat of him losing more._

_And life on the outside has been so much more than he expected, more than he wanted._

_Stiles follows the two siblings down the street and up to a large house. There’s lights in the windows, but everything is quiet, much like it had been the night Stiles first arrived, four months ago._

_Eloise looks at him nervously again, and she holds out her hand for him to grip. His fingers slide easily next to hers, and even though her hand is much smaller than his, it’s comforting to feel her squeeze._

_There are people everywhere inside. Stiles never knew packs could be this big. All the packs he’s met have been broken, small. He wonders if the Hale pack had been like this, once. With kids running around and people holding party cups, smiling at Stiles like he’s an old friend._

_There’s talking, but Stiles doesn’t catch the words. He’s too focused on following Eloise. She’s dragging him somewhere, weaving through the living room and kitchen and out to the back porch. Nick hovers next to him, almost protectively, although Stiles didn’t think that he liked him._

_They come down the stairs and out into the grass, where children run and screech and in the light of a fire. Eloise keeps tugging him until they’re next to the bonfire and in front of two people, a woman, much older than him but with youthful eyes, and a man, who’s anger and power color his face grey._

_Stiles gulps._

_“Grandpa,” Eloise says, her voice forcefully warm. She kisses his cheek and then turns to Stiles. “This is my boyfriend, Stiles.”_

_The man looks at Stiles with narrowed eyes, and he glances at Eloise with annoyance. “You bring him here? He smells like the dumb McCall pack.”_

_“He’s not affiliated with them anymore,” Eloise says, and she looks nervous._

_Her grandpa huffs, and says, “He may not be affiliated to them, but they still are to him.”_

_Stiles isn’t sure what that means, but Nick moves in closes next to him._

_“He came here willingly,” Eloise says, but her grandpa holds a hand up to her, and the woman grabs Eloise back and away._

_Her grandpa steps forward, glaring at Stiles like he’s a threat and an enemy. Stiles feels his nerves bubbling in his chest and out to his arms, which start to jitter. He smiles at the man, and says, “Um, hi.”_

_“The last thing I need is to be starting a war with the McCall pack,” the man says, “this romance with my granddaughter has gone on long enough. I’ll call up McCall to come pick you up.”_

_“With all due respect,” Stiles says, though his voice suggests that he has no respect for this ass wipe, “I’d doubt that Scott would come, even if you called.”_

_“Really?” The man asks, “Then how do you explain the bounty they have out on you? Every creature knows about the missing emissary, and knows just how much McCall is willing to pay to get you back.”_

_Stiles thinks for a moment, because he never expected that. He knew that his dad would convince Scott to search for him, but he didn’t know that his dad would convince Scott to do this._

_“If you call Scott, I will destroy your pack.”_

_Eloise screeches, and there’s a series of growls around him. He feels their eyes on him, their fangs itching to bite him, to protect their pack. Nick comes even closer, and Eloise claws at the woman who’s holding onto her, trying to come over to protect him._

_The man simply raises his eyebrow, and says, “And how do you think you’re going to do that.”_

_“I’ll tell them you held me captive,” Stiles says, and the man in front of him almost laughs, it’s so absurd. But Stiles continues, “Scott’s always been the kind of guy to ask questions first, but I think he’d make an exception, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. We took on an alpha pack. Yours will be easy.”_

_“You’re an idiot,” the man says, and Stiles supposes he’s right. “But I’ll tell you what. So long as you’re dating my granddaughter, I won’t call.”_

_Stiles isn’t really sure how he won that battle, but then the woman is letting Eloise go, and she’s trampling him in a hug._

?

If Stiles were being honest, he would admit that he wasn’t going to go to the dumb pack meeting until Derek called, but that would mean admitting something that Stiles doesn’t want to admit.

Derek doesn’t have some mystical power over him, but apparently Derek saying “please” can get him to agree to anything. Even to packing Eli into his car seat at five o’clock and driving to the McCall pack meeting.

Everything about this feels wrong to Stiles, but Eli is squealing in delight, happy to see Victoria and Derek and Cora again, and anxious to meet everyone. Stiles is happy that Eli has always been a light spot in his life, something bright in all the grey.

And Maybe his dad and Isaac and Derek and everyone are right. Maybe Stiles does need to forgive Scott. Maybe that’s the next step in his happiness.

That doesn’t sit well with him. He’s been angry for so long, he knows that one pack meeting isn’t going to make everything better, but he has to live here, at least for the time being. He needs to at least try to get along.

Derek doesn’t live far from him, and soon enough he’s pulling into the woods. There’s car’s all up and down the dirt road, so Stiles parks far enough back that he can leave whenever he wants. They’re at least half a mile from Derek’s house, and Stiles is surprised by the sheer number of people in attendance.

He recognizes a few cars, there’s Parrish’s and Isaac’s, but most of them are unfamiliar to him.

He and Eli walk, the younger of the two chattering away, the older one watching the trees. They’re the same trees as the ones from seven years ago, but they’re different now. They’re larger, taller, more defined.

The come up to the house, and Eli stops talking. He shifts nervously, stepping his body behind Stiles’ in an attempt to hide. Stiles smiles warmly, and runs a hand though Eli’s hair, scratching behind his ears.

They hear voices from behind the house, so Stiles and Eli make their way to the back. They can smell burgers on a grill, and he sees Victoria darting around before they come completely around. Eli buzzes with excitement at the sight of the fellow kid, so Stiles nods his head, an Eli is chasing after his new friend.

Victoria squeals, excited, and Eli is giggling as they run along the tree line.

Stiles comes fully around the side of the house, feeling uncomfortable without his son next to him. He looks around, trying to spot Derek or Cora or even Isaac in the crowd of familiar faces. He sees people still as they catch sight of him, and it only makes him feel more awkward.

He sees Derek, behind the grill, across the yard, and he starts to walk towards him. He gets about half way before Malia is cutting in front of him. He stops.

Malia looks uncomfortable, and her eyes shift from his face to his wrist to his side. She smiles awkwardly, and says, “I, uh, wanted to apologize. I didn’t realize it was a kid coming at Scott.”

Stiles crosses his arms across his chest, and he looks at Malia critically. His side doesn’t hurt anymore, at least not bad enough for him to notice, but had it been Eli who had taken the claws, Stiles would’ve killed her.

“Would it had mattered?” Stiles asks, and Malia bites her lip.

“You have to understand, Stiles. We’ve been on edge these past couple of weeks. People are being attacked, and then we get a report of a mysterious SUV at the sheriff’s house, and we’ve all thought you’ve been dead for years. I didn’t know it was a kid, and I’m sorry.”

She looks genuine, which surprises him. He’s never known Malia to be apologetic about anything.

“It’s not okay,” Stiles says, and Malia doesn’t look like she’s going to argue. She looks like she accepts the fact. “But thank you for apologizing. I’ll maybe let you near him.”

Malia smiles, and she says, “I’m not really good with kids.”

“No shit,” Stiles snorts, and Malia huffs, confused. Stiles hears someone else snort, and then Lydia is coming up next to him, saying, “I wouldn’t let Malia anywhere near your kid.”

Malia narrows her eyes, and says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you piled Melanie under five blankets the one-time Scott let you babysit,” Isaac chips in, and Malia glares at him.

“She was cold. I was making a den,” she explains.

“She was three months old!” Derek yells from across the yard, and Malia frowns. “I’m surprised Scott even let you babysit to begin with.”

“It’s not my fault human cubs are so fragile,” Malia mumbles, and Stiles looks around, amazed at the banter bopping around the yard. Everyone is broken into groups, but they float through conversations, one person adding to whatever the group across the lawn is talking about, before turning back to their own conversations.

Isaac wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, and he’s directing Stiles towards Derek. He doesn’t know if he should be happy or embarrassed that Isaac knew that’s who he wanted to be by.

Unfortunately for him, Scott is also next to Derek, holding Melanie in his arms as the two chat. Kira is off with some blond chick, probably Victoria’s mom, he assumes, because they’re watching the kids playing. Cora stands next to Derek, complaining about his hamburgers.

“They’re black, Derek,” Cora says, but she brightens when Isaac pushes Stiles into their circle.

“Stiles!” Scott says, grinning, as Melanie claps, “I’m glad you came.”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, but he says, “yeah.”

Scott nods, and he hands his baby to Cora, who starts to coo. “We should probably talk,” Scott says. Stiles really doesn’t want to. He kind of wants to stick his tongue out at Scott and tell him to stick it, but the grown up in him knows he has to make nice.

The two break from the group, though Stiles knows everyone will ease drop anyways. Some of them are openly staring (Jackson) while some are trying to be sneaky (Isaac) and some are admiring their nails like they don’t even care (Lydia, Cora).

Scott is still smiling, and Stiles really wants to know what he finds so pleasant. He glares at the alpha, and Scott’s smile falls. “I’m sorry,” Scott says.

“For what?” Stiles asks, because there’s certainly a long list.

Scott shifts uncomfortably, and Stiles filters his eyes around the lawn. More people are arriving, Liam and Hayden, Tracey and Corey.

“I’m sorry about everything,” Scott begins, “I’m sorry about what I put you through, what I did when we were- Stiles?”

Stiles is suddenly tense, his heart beat picking up. Scott approaches him, concerned, before he follows Stiles’ line of sight straight to Theo.

Stiles is an idiot. How could he come here? How could he pretend what happened to them was nothing? How could he think that Scott was really sorry, that Scott really missed him? Scott had Theo this whole time.

Theo is grinning, but he catches Stiles’ eyes, and his grin wavers.

“Stiles,” Scott says again, like he’s trying to reach Stiles and pull him back, but Stiles is gone.

“I’m so fucking dumb,” Stiles hisses, and he glares at Scott. The alpha looks at him, his head shaking, his hands reaching out to Stiles, but Stiles shrugs him off. “I never should have come here. I can’t believe I actually thought any of you cared.”

“We do care,” Scott says, chasing after Stiles as he stomps away. Stiles doesn’t care what he has to say. He let that man into his back. Stiles kills one guy in self-defense and he’s the worst person ever, Theo literally kills countless people and he’s still ensured membership into this stupid pack.

Stiles is done. He’s done with Scott and done with this whole pack. He motions to Eli, who runs to him, looking concerned.

“We’re leaving,” Stiles says, and Eli whines.

“Don’t,” Scott says, “please. Let us talk.”

“You know what, Scott?” Stiles yells, turning back towards his old best friend. “I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.”

“Papa!” Eli says, and Stiles looks at him, trying to hold in his anger and pain and sadness, “daddy says you shouldn’t say that word.”

“Daddy isn’t here!” Stiles snaps, but he instantly regrets it. Eli stops, and his mouth quivers as he starts to cry, and then Stiles starts to cry too.

Eli takes off, running back towards the line of cars. Derek and Isaac and Scott are coming towards him, and everyone is watching him, and he gives up. “Just leave us alone,” Stiles says, and then he turns and runs after his son.

He can see Eli, running down the dirt road. He turns, making sure no one is following him, and when he doesn’t see anyone, he turns back. Eli is ahead of him, blurry through his tears, and he runs.

He hears a swoosh, low and quick, before he feels a sharp pain in the back of his head, and he falls, everything going black.


	9. Witching Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I'm a liar. I haven't been posting lately and I'm really sorry. I just got swarmed with a bunch of stuff all at once. Thank you all for your continued support and I hope you like this.

_One month after Stiles meets Eleanor, he successfully builds a wall around himself. He doesn’t feel any different. Being inside a magical shield doesn’t make him feel excited or cool or anything, but Eleanor gets Brett to smell him, and he confirms that he no longer has the same scent._

_His scent no longer lingers. He no longer leaves pieces of him when he enters a place. He doesn’t know how that should make him feel._

_Eleanor looks sad. She says, “I have so much more I could teach you.”_

_“I know,” Stiles says, “But I graduated two weeks ago. If I’m going to leave, it’s now.”_

_Eleanor smiles, and she grips his hand, and she says, “Remember the push and pull. And please remember to meditate.”_

_Stiles snorts._

_“If you have an emergency, you can call. I have no allegiance to Scott. I won’t tell him,” Eleanor promises, and Stiles believes her. The two have bonded over the last four weeks, and Stiles has grown to love the smell of the forest and the sound of her garden moving in the wind. He’s grown to love her._

_“I’m going to miss you,” Stiles says, hugging her. She laughs, warm in his ear, and holds onto him just as tight as he does to her._

?

There’s a sharp pounding in the back of his head. It’s the first thing he notices as he comes back to consciousness. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain, trying to go back to sleep. It didn’t hurt when he was asleep.

 _“Wake up!”_ The voice is quick, urgent, and sounds just like Justin, but that’s impossible. Stiles knows it’s impossible. _“Stiles, babe, wake up.”_

Stiles cracks his eyes open, and he’s looking up at trees, intertwining like they’re shaking hands. He groans, wondering what the hell happened, and wondering where Eli is.

He turns his head, but he doesn’t see the line of cars or the dirt road. He sees more trees and grass and sticks. He blinks and looks the other way.

There’s a woman, watching him, perched on a rock. He looks at her, and she doesn’t look like anything. She’s there, but she’s fuzzy, like an image on an old TV, or there’s nothing remarkable. He forgets her even as he looks at her, and he can smell the sharp scent of mountain ash.

Why was mountain ash important?

She’s watching him quietly, tapping her fingers along her leg, humming softly.

“Who are you?” He asks, and then, “Where’s Eli?”

She tilts her head, quietly, and says, “That little boy? I left him there. I don’t usually kill children.”

And oh, Stiles knows who she is now. The witch. Who’s killing people. She’s going to kill him. That’s great.

He drapes an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the sun, and says, “So you’re the witch that’s killing people.”

“Guilty,” she says, and Stiles can hear a laugh in her voice. She pushes off her rock, coming towards him, and he peeks out from around his arm. She’s smiling at him, and she looks harmless.

“Why?” He asks, and she perks up. She drops down next to him, sitting on the forest floor. She starts to draw three dots in the sand, over and over.

“They were sad,” She says, grinning, “all for different reasons. One lost their job, one was going through a divorce, one’s cat died, one’s girlfriend cheated. Each was overly sad, like they were waiting for death.”

“Wait a minute,” Stiles says, sitting up. He looks at the woman, absolute disbelief on his face. “Are you trying to tell me they were asking for it?”

She shrugs. “People feel emotions so fully. When they’re hurt, all of them hurt. Sometimes they can’t distinguish between good or bad. Most of them wanted death.”

“Nobody wants to die because of a cat,” Stiles says.

“You’re obviously a dog person,” she says back, and Stiles huffs.

“Nobody wants to be murdered,” Stiles says.

“Death is death, it doesn’t matter how you get there,” She answers, and Stiles flinches back.

He looks at his hands, and he says, “I don’t want to die.”

The woman laughs. “I know you’ve thought about it. I know you think it’d be easier, simpler. Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone’s had those thoughts.”

She reaches out and touches him, her hand caressing his chin, then slipping around his neck. He feels her fingernails dancing along the back of his neck, and for a moment he forgets everything. He forgets about Eli, alone in the woods, and Derek and his dad and everything. He leans into her touch.

 _“NO!”_ Justin’s voice is sharp, commanding, in ways he’s never been before. He was always sweet, always followed Stiles wherever he wanted to go. Stiles could’ve led them all down a tunnel and into hell, and Justin would’ve happily complied. But Justin’s voice is exactly what Stiles needs to snap out of it.

He breathes in deep, and focuses on the world around him. He can hear her magic, a steady buzz, and feel the way it pulses. He pushes back with his own magic, and they both collide with a sound of sparks and lightning.

The woman retracts her hand, and Stiles swings an arm out. He hits nothing but air, because the woman isn’t really there. It’s why she was so fuzzy, it was magic all along, but she has to be nearby.

He feels the magic, and follows it farther into the woods. Her magic is dark, it tastes like smoke and makes the air hot. He almost gags, but he keeps following the steady rhythm of her magic.

He knows she’s close because the air grows staler, and he looks to the right just in time to see her flinging off a branch. She collides with him, but he had time to prepare himself, so he only staggers back a few feet. She hits him with the full force of his body, but then she’s pushing her magic into him, and he staggers backwards until he’s up against a tree.

“Only one other person passed that test before you,” She says, and she sounds excited. “I like fighters.”

She pushes his shoulders, his head slamming against the harsh bark, and yeah, he definitely has a concussion. He winces at the sharp pain blooming in the back of his head, and he hesitates before he’s struggling against her grasp.

She laughs, and says, “Wouldn’t death be so easy?”

He twists, and what he lacks in magic, he makes up in sheer strength. He pushes her back, and swings an arm out, his hand connecting to her face.

She hisses. She comes back, her magic boiling in the air. There’s sharp cracks like lightening, and he’s hit with her power, cementing him to the tree. He winces, and he tries to focus on the magic around him, tries to remember the push and pull, but his head hurts and his mind is tuning in and out.

There’s a few cracks, different from the witch’s magic. They’re real cracks, like something solid breaking, and he manages to look around. He hears them before he sees them, the pounding of feet and the howling of wolves, and he’s stunned by the knowledge that the McCall pack is coming for him.

The woman hesitates. She should run. She’s been evading the wolves for weeks, the mountain ash in her magic serving as protection, but she can’t leave Stiles alive. Not with how much he knows, about her plans and her magic.

She hits him again, knocking the breath from his lungs, and she reaches forward, wrapping a hand around him neck. She squeezes, and he gasps, twitching.

He can see the wolves in the distance, dancing through the trees, announcing their arrival with a chorus of howls. He sees Scott, ahead, Derek next to him, and he sees Eli, running next to Derek. His heart stops.

Why would they bring him with? It’s possible they hadn’t known Stiles was under attack, but still, Stiles had had more trust in Derek. Victoria isn’t among them, neither is Melanie, so why was his son there?

Seeing Eli brings him strength. Eli has already lost Justin, he can’t lose Stiles too. So he throws his arm out, channeling all his magic in the direction of the advancing wolves. He sees the moment the wolves realize what’s happening, realize Stiles is dying, and Derek makes an attempt to grab Eli before he can see.

Stiles only ever learned how to make a wall, how to protect things, with his magic, but he can build one hell of a wall.  

His wall goes up just in time, and the McCall pack slams into it. There’s confused howls, Eli is screaming, and Scott is pushing against the magic like he can force his way through. Stiles’ magic is nothing live mountain ash, it’s not something you can force to open, and as long as Stiles can keep the wall up, Eli is safe.

The woman smiles, and her hand goes slack. He sucks in a deep breath, his throat aching, as she laughs. “All that power, and you build a cage?” She asks.

“They’re safe out there,” Stiles says.

“Yes, but you’ve also locked yourself in here with me.” Her eyes twinkle with joy, and she runs a hand down the side of his face. There’s no longer any urgency, because as long as the wall is up, she knows the wolves can’t come in a tear her apart.

“That just means one of us has to die,” He says.

She steps back, watching him closely, drumming her fingers on her leg. One, two, three. Tap, tap, tap. One side of her mouth curls up, and then she’s lunging forward again.

He’s dizzy, and keeping the wall up is draining, but he manages to work away his pocket knife from his pocket. It isn’t as effective as his hunting knives would’ve been, but those are lost forever, so he’ll have to make do.

He swipes up, and he manages to slice her cheek. There’s a line of bright red blood, and she frowns as she wipes her face.

She pulls her hand out, looking at the smudge of sticky blood on her fingers, and she growls. “That’s annoying,” she says, and she looks up, her eyes suddenly sparkling with anger. He sees her magic pulsing around her, and Stiles wastes no time, jumping forward.

She must’ve not of expected him to do that, because she loses her footing, and she slams into the ground, Stiles of top of her. He knocks the breath out of her, which gives him enough time to wrap a hand around her neck, cutting off her hair.

He hears the wolves around him howl, and Scott is saying, “Stiles, wait.”

Stiles looks up at him, catching his eyes, and says, “You can’t control me,” and he plunges the knife down, into her neck.

Her magic is gone, like a light flipping out, her dying body unable to keep it up. The air is suddenly quiet and cold. Stiles can’t keep up his magic, either, and his wall crumbles. He half rolls, half falls off of the woman, and he stumbles towards Derek, who’s rushing towards him.

“Where’s Eli?” He asks as Derek catches him. He looks around, and his son is nowhere to be found.

“We sent him back to the house with Cora,” Derek says, holding until Stiles with strong arms. Stiles wants to collapse, wants to melt into Derek, but he refuses to be carried back to his son. He pushes off of Derek, and he stumbles back into the woods. “Stiles,” Derek says, following him.

“Eli,” he repeats.

He walks past Scott, who is staring at the witch on the ground, his expression unreadable. The rest of the pack are scattered, looking between Stiles, Scott and the witch.

Stiles manages to stumble the mile back to the house. He’s tired and dizzy and his head is throbbing, but the look on Eli’s face is enough. His son looks so relieved when he sees him. He runs, crashing into Stiles, and the two end up on the grass.

Stiles laughs, pulling his son as close to him as he possibly can. They probably would’ve laid like that forever, if Derek hadn’t pulled them both up, saying, “We need to go to the hospital.”

Stiles lets Derek carry them to his car, no longer worrying about his pride. He has his son, and they’re both alive, and that’s all that matters. Derek puts them both in the back.

Stiles spends all carried rubbing his son’s back, until the child passes out from exhaustion. Derek stays quiet, but every once in a while Stile will catch his eye in the rearview mirror. Derek gets them there in a matter of minutes, and he helps Stiles’ out of the car.

Melissa nearly drops her clipboard when she catches sight of Stiles, and she quickly rushes him into an empty room.

?

_Stiles ducks into the building, escaping the salty, humid air. He breathes a sign of relief. It smells like mint and lavender and something spicy, something smokey._

_“Get out kid,” a man says, and Stiles looks up. He catches eyes with a man much older than he, with a shaved head and a dark beard, tattoos slinky up and down his arms. Stiles thinks he sees them move, and remembers that this is a_ magic _tattoo artist. They probably do._

_“First off,” Stiles says, holding one finger up. The guy raises his eyebrows. “Stellar customer service there, dude. Secondly, I’m twenty.”_

_The guy doesn’t really look convinced. His eyes trail up and down Stiles’ lanky frame. “Got any proof of that, kid?”_

_And Stiles doesn’t, because a part of disappearing is having literally no form of ID. “Look,” he says, “I have money, and a design, and literally all I need from you is for you to do your freaky magic and put this,” he holds out a piece of paper, “on my shoulder.”_

_The man rolls his eyes, and he walks away from his desk, where he had been playing on his cellphone. He takes the paper from Stiles, and quirks an eyebrow. “A crow?” He asks._

_“Raven, actually,” Stiles answers._

_“That’s an awful lot of black.”_

_When Stiles had first heard of the tattoo shop, he had been incredulous. He’s been around enough to know that people like to pretend magic is in places it’s not. It gets people to pay a lot of money for nothing, but he had done his research regardless. This man appears to be the real deal, and with a mix of herbs and colors and intention, he can create tattoos that aid in health, luck, isolation._

_“Maybe black’s my favorite color,” he says, and one side of the guy’s lip curls upward._

_“I’m sure you’ve heard about my shop, what each color means,” the guy begins, and he gestures to the wall of brightly colored designs, “Red for lust, pink for love, yellow for luck, green for prosperity,” he says, and Stiles rolls his eyes, “Black for invisibility.”_

_“I’m not dumb,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes, “I didn’t walk into here without any idea what I was doing.”_

_“I just get a lot of all black tattoos, that’s all,” the guy laughs, “and the bird is symbolic. Freedom, flight, strength. Who are you?”_

_Stiles levels him with a glare, and he says, “a paying customer.”_

_The guy chuckles, and he says, “this is going to be a pain in my ass, but I have some spare time, so might as well.”_

?

Stiles has two concussions. He didn’t know you could have more than one, but apparently Stiles went to a buy one get one sale. He can’t sleep, doctor’s orders, and Eli is still passed out, curled into the hospital bed next to him, so Derek offers to stay.

“I could watch TV,” Stiles says, “you can go back to your dumb pack meeting.”

“Meeting’s canceled,” Derek answers, shrugging, “a witch crashing the party kind of kills the mood.”

Stiles smirks, though the smile doesn’t go past the surface. “Sorry to kill your buzz.”

Derek looks at him, and he says, “Stiles, about Theo-”

“Oh God,” Stiles moans, rolling his head to the side, “Can we not do this while I’m confined to a hospital bed and can’t leave?”

“I think that’s why we have to do this now,” Derek says, and Stiles huffs. This is not a conversation he wants to have period, but having it with Derek seems much worse. Derek sighs, and says, “Stiles, I don’t know what happened here while I was gone. No one would ever tell me, so I don’t know what Theo did to you.”

“Theo isn’t the problem. Not really, the problem is Scott. Scott chose Theo over me then, and apparently nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” Derek says, and he looks sad, like he doesn’t understand Stiles and Stiles will never be able to understand him.

Stiles sighs, and he sits up, readjusting Eli as he does so. The child whimpers quietly as he’s moved, but he falls back into a deep sleep.

Derek looks startled, and he makes a move to push Stiles back down, but he shrugs Derek off. He pulls down his hospital gown, and Derek’s eyes widen as the wings of a large black bird come into view. Stiles twists and pulls until the whole tattoo in there, dark and beautiful and pulsing with magic.

Derek’s fingers hesitate, but he eventually he makes contact, poking at the bird, feeling the magic buzz.

“Quoth the raven ‘nevermore’” Derek murmured, and Stiles jolts in surprise. No one, not even Justin, had known the meaning behind the raven. No one ever asked why Stiles’ had chosen that bird. “Edgar Allen Poe, I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, well, the poem was oddly fitting,” Stiles answers, shrugging, trying to hide whatever he was feeling in that moment. Understanding? Affection?

 “I’ve heard about this artist,” Derek says, and his fingers move to trace the bird. “You were in Florida?”

“Unfortunately,” Stiles says, shuddering slightly. “I don’t like to think about it.”

Derek snorts and he moves his hand away from Stiles’ shoulder. He raises an eyebrow, looking at Stiles with questions flickering in his eyes. He wants to know why Stiles showed him this, why Stiles would share this part of himself.

“When we were in high school, Theo showed up after years of being gone. We had all been friends when we were ten, but we hadn’t spoken to him in seven years. I was paranoid,” Stiles says, and Derek snorts. Okay, maybe Stiles is always paranoid, but he has good reason. “Around the same time, random people started getting supernatural powers, and it wasn’t for any good or pure reasons. Someone gave this guy, Donovan, some Wendigo powers. Well Donovan kinda hated my guts, because his dad died while working with my dad.”

Derek widens his eyes, putting together the pieces in his mind.

“Donovan attacked me,” he says, but he doesn’t feel anything, “Under that tattoo, is the scar I got that night. Theo, it turns out, had been behind it all, and he had been the person who told Scott that I killed Donovan.”

There’s clarity and understanding in Derek’s eyes, and he grabs onto Stiles’ shoulder like it’s a lifeline. “Stiles, Theo isn’t a part of our pack.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “He was at your meeting.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair. It’s the most uncomfortable Stiles has ever seen him, and it’s actually adorable expect for the fact that they’re talking about Theo. “He’s…. we kind of babysit him?” Derek says, and Stiles narrows his eyes. “He’s like Peter. He comes and goes, but he’s required to keep Scott updated on his whereabouts. He kind of coexists with the pack.”

He thinks about that, and he doesn’t really have anything else to say, so he stops talking.

Derek doesn’t seem to mind.


	10. Hospitality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. I have the next chapter mostly written, so it shouldn't take long for than one to be posted.

_Stiles is looking at the ceiling, at_ their _ceiling. There’s cracks in it, and a mysterious stain in the corner, and it’s old and yellow, but it’s theirs. They own this shitty, broken house, and Stiles couldn’t be any happier._

_Justin rolls beside him, staring at Stiles in the dark. The moonlight shines through there’s window’s, peaking through the holes in the tattered blanket Stiles had hung up. They haven’t bought curtains yet._

_Eli is between them, snoring quietly, his back scooted all away against Justin, his small hand holding onto Stiles’ finger. It’s their first night there, in the home they purchased together._

_“What are you thinking?” Justin asks, watching at Stiles looks around, staring at the shadows._

_“What if this house is haunted?” Stiles says, and Justin sighs, burying his head into his pillow. “I’m serious. I’ve read about ghosts. They’re apparently real, and they can be little shits. Should we have picked the new-built house?”_

_“You’re trying to ruin a good thing, Stiles,” Justin says, “Stop thinking.”_

_“I can’t,” Stiles says, and maybe Justin is right, but in his experience, good things never stay good for long._

_Justin reaches a hand out, and he brushes his fingers across Stiles’ face. “Marry me,” he says, and Stiles stills._

_“What?”_

_“Marry me,” Justin repeats, smiling softly._

_Stiles sputters, and he says, “We’ve talked about this.”_

_“No,” Justin says, and there’s something sharp in his voice, but he’s still smiling. “I’ve asked and you’ve said no, but we’ve never talked about it.”_

_Stiles blinks, and yeah, maybe Justin has asked before, and maybe Stiles has always said no, but there’s a reason. Stiles can’t think of it, but there has to be a reason why it’s a bad idea._

_“It’s just not a good idea,” Stiles answers, and Justin huffs._

_Justin asks why and Stiles has to bite his lip before he answers, “because marriages end.” Because they do. Stiles can’t think of anyone in his life who ended up happily married. His mom died, Melissa and Rafael divorced, so did Lydia’s parents. Someone always ends up alone, in the end._

_But Justin is looking at him, and he should be angry, but instead he looks fond. His eyes are warm. His face is open and vulnerable and Justin should know, just as well as Stiles does, how this ends. He’s seen just as much pain and suffering, just as much darkness, but he still wants Stiles._

_Stiles is scared, but he does want Justin. He wants a happy life, with family and kids and maybe a dog._

_He closes his eyes, and he says, “Okay.”_

_Justin blinks, looking surprised, before he breaks into a huge smile. “Really?”_

_“Yes,” Stiles says, and he runs a finger down Eli’s chubby face. The toddler sighs, and he grips onto Stiles tighter. “But, don’t make it that big of a deal, okay?”_

_Justin scoots close, until all three of them are smooshed together, and he holds onto Stiles like he’s a lifeline._

?

Stiles feels pathetic. Eli is still sleeping at his side, his breaths coming in and out shallowly, and he looks more at peace than he has in weeks. Derek had left an hour ago, after his father burst through the door, looking panicked and frenzied. He had a woman behind him, with dark hair and kind eyes, and she smiled as she introduced herself as “Mary.”

His father is off finding coffee, and Mary is with him, and Stiles is alone and feeling like a failure. How could he have trusted the McCall pack, even after all these years, after all they’ve been through? How could he have brought Eli there? How had he not noticed the witch?

He’s been off his game lately. Stiles from a year ago would’ve kicked ass and taken names. Hell, Stiles from 3 months ago would’ve tore the witch apart before she even had a chance to utter one word about death. He’s weak.

He’s in a self-hating mood, and since he’s bedridden, he might as well do the things he’s put off. He fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s caked in mud, and it’s only at half percentage, but it’s all he has right now. He’ll have to ask his dad to bring him his charger, maybe his laptop, and all those papers for Eli’s school.

Justin had always been the one to worry about the practical stuff. Stiles had spent most of his time worrying about monsters and playing nice with the Massachusetts pack. Stiles has to try three times before he gets his password right, and then he’s looking at a _negative_ number in his bank account.

He groans, scrolling through his recent transactions. He dropped a couple thousand on the way here, between hotel stays and food and gas, but he hadn’t thought it was this bad. He pulls out his wallet, staring at his debit card like it’s betrayed him, and pulls out his credit cards.

They’re all maxed out. It had taken all of Stiles’ savings to plan the funeral, and he had relied on the credit cards to pay off the last of Eli’s tuition, so he could pull him from school. Stiles stares at his wallet, at the three-crumbled dollar bills he has shoved in there, and realizes that he’s _fucked._ Both financially and literally.

His dad finds him holding back tears, glaring at his wallet. He looks concerned, and even though he’s literally just met her, Mary takes his phone from his hand to see what’s gotten him so upset.

She gasps, and she hands the phone to his dad, who goes silent for a moment, before he says, “Oh, _Stiles._ ”

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, wrapping one arm around Eli and tugging him as close to his side as he can get him. “I have… there’s things I can do. I can sell the house. Justin had a life insurance. I just-” he sighs, closing his eyes.

His dad takes his hand, and it’s warm and reassuring. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says. “You can stay with me as long as you need to. I’m not kicking you out any time soon.”

Stiles knows this. He knows, for whatever reason, that there are people here willing to help him. There are people here who seem to care about him. But he’s avoided Beacon Hills for so long, had painted a big black dot over the town in his memories, that he really can’t believe that things will be better here.

Eli stirs, and he blinks up at Stiles. He’s on the bridge between sleeping and awake, and he looks so painfully young. A tear falls from Stiles’ eye, and it lands onto Eli’s forehead. His son digs his fingers into Stiles, and he mumbles quietly, “It’s okay, papa.”

Stiles needs to make this okay.  

?

_“Before I die, I want to go to New York,” Eloise says, and it’s so random, so unexpected, that Stiles jumps. They’re in her bed, some horror movie playing on her TV, but they’re connecting dots on her ceiling rather than watching. She’s curled into his side, and he can feel her heart beat, steady and strong and real._

_“What the fuck?” He mumbles, because where did that come from? One second Stiles was showing her where he sees her dog in the ceiling, and the next she’s talking about death._

_She giggles, and she says, “I’ve heard about New York. It’s a refuge. A sanctuary. No pack claims the land. I’d go there, and I’d see my sister again.”_

_“Is she in New York?” Stiles asks, quietly. Eloise doesn’t talk about Elizabeth much, and when she does, Stiles always listens greedily. She needs this. She needs Stiles to listen._

_“No,” Eloise says, and it’s sad. “Her pack is only a couple hours north from here. It’s shitty. She’s so close, but I can’t see her.”_

_“Why did your grandpa cut off all ties?” Stiles asks, and Eloise sighs. She tilts her head, resting it on Stiles’ chest, and starts to tap a beat into his stomach._

_“He took her leaving as her picking them over him. That’s the way he is. He always sees things as either a threat against him, or a benefit for him,” she sighs, and she hangs onto Stiles. “I miss her.”_

_Stiles understands. There’s things, people, he misses, too. Like his mother, or Derek._

_“Tell me about her,” Stiles says, and Eloise laughs, like she knew he was going to say that. She probably did. Stiles and her have gotten to know each other rather well over the past couple of months._

_“She’s better than me,” Eloise says, and Stiles finds that hard to believe. Eloise is the best. “I learned how to be nice from her. She... she believes in people. I think that she probably still loves my grandpa. Even after all he’s done to her. She can’t say anything ill about him, because she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”_

_Stiles stays quiet. He lets Eloise collect her thoughts, lets her decide what she wants to tell him, and then she’s saying, “I wish I was as strong as she was. If I were, I’d go to New York. I’d run away, live my life, but she’s always been the strong one.”_

?

Stiles is alone. His father had taken Eli. Had promised to feed him dinner and give him a bath. He left Stiles with a pad of paper and a pen and the words, “You never knew this, but I wrote to your mother, every time things got bad. Maybe you should give it a try.”

Stiles can’t bring himself to write to Justin, so he writes to Eloise instead.

 _You’d be so proud of him,_ he writes, _he’s so strong._

Sometimes, when Stiles watches Eli, he’ll see pieces of Eloise and Nick, in the way he talks or in his smile. Eloise always used to tell Stiles she was weak, but he looks at Eli, and he sees his strength and conviction, and he knows where it came from.

_When he laughs, it makes you think of everything good that ever happened to you. I think about you, and I think about him._

His relationship with Eloise hadn’t been perfect. There was darkness in it, and they were always destined to fail, but for the longest time, she had been the one good thing in his life. Then, it was Eli.

He writes his letter, and then, he crumples it up, and tosses it into the garbage can. He misses, and he knows once Melissa comes to check on him she’ll find it, and she’ll probably read it, and then she’ll tell his dad and Scott, who will tell Derek, who will come to him, but he doesn’t care.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks about red hair and brown eyes, and he’s startled out of his skin when he hears a cheerful voice say, “I heard you almost died.”

Stiles opens his eyes, and he glares at Eleanor. She looks older, she’s grown in her power, and she looks beautiful and confident. It pisses him off. “Where the hell were you?” He hisses, and she slinks into his room. There’s magic around her, shiny and pulsing, and Stiles knows that only he can see her.

“The witch wasn’t my problem,” Eleanor says, simply, and Stiles growls.

“A woman was using magic in your territory, killing people, and it wasn’t your problem?” He asks. His companion shrugs.

“First off,” she says as she deposits herself into a chair, “Beacon Hills isn’t my territory. It’s Deaton’s. And he didn’t do anything, either. Secondly, invisibility is the only thing that keeps me and my pack safe. If I reveal myself to McCall, then I risk the chance of him getting me killed.”

Stiles huffs, and he says, “You almost got me killed.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, and she says, “I was there the whole time. Who do you think was talking to you?”

Stiles realizes with a start that he had heard Justin’s voice, and he stares at his former mentor, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. Eleanor falters, and her face melts into something softer. “I was never going to let her kill you, Stiles,” she says, “you and Eli are safe here.”

Stiles blinks. He can’t really wrap his head around this. He hasn’t spoken to Eleanor in five years, but he had thought of her often. He loved her like a sister, like a best friend.

“Why would you let her get me to begin with?” Stiles asks, and Eleanor sighs.

“That was unintentional,” she explains. “I had been following her. She only makes herself known during attacks, and even then, the only person close enough to kill her is the person who she’s attacking. I had tried to help the others. I had spoken to them to fight against her, but you were the only one strong enough. I’m sad you were attacked, but in the end, I’m glad it was you, because you defeated her.”

Stiles stares at her, and he doesn’t know if he should be mad or happy. He’s too tired for this.

“I thought you should know the truth,” Eleanor says, and she’s smiling, “You’re safe here, Stiles. You have my support, and the support of the Satomi pack.”

Stiles wants to talk to her, wants to ask a million questions, but she disappears between blinks. 

Stiles groans. She’s going to make him walk through the woods if he wants to talk to her. As he realizes this, he can hear Eleanor’s laugh, like a gust a wind.


	11. Part Three: Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly my favorite chapter. It's the one I've been waiting to get to from the beginning. It also marks a shift in the story, from Stiles being a stranger to Stiles actually trying to have a life here. I should also explain that this story isn't linear. Meaning, everything isn't leading up to one big climax. There will be a big climax, but mostly the story is written with a bunch of little struggles in it. The witch was one. This chapter has the second. The trail will be another one. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do.

_The worst day in Stiles’ life is a Thursday. It’s always a Thursday. It was a Thursday when his mother died, a Thursday when Scott told him to get lost, a Thursday when he left. It’s fitting, when he wakes up, Justin’s panicked voice floating through the house, that it’s Thursday._

_He rolls out of bed, and he winces as his joints crack. He stumbles out of their bedroom, and down the hall into Eli’s room, and he sees his four-year-old, clutching onto his stuffed animal, sniffing and coughing._

_Justin looks at him, his eyes full of panic, and Stiles yawns. “He just has a cold, Justin,” Stiles says, shrugging like it’s nothing, because it is nothing. Stiles was a sickly child. He knows that a four-year-old with a cough isn’t a big deal._

_But Justin doesn’t calm down. He looks at Stiles with wild eyes and he says, “Stiles. Werewolves don’t get sick.”_

_That gives Stiles pause, and he looks at his wheezing child, and panic starts to spike in his stomach. “Then what is it?” He asks, dropping down next to Eli, holding onto his son’s hand._

_Justin looks pained as he says, “I’ve heard about it. It’s never happened to any of us, we always thought that it was a superstition.”_

_“What?” Stiles snaps, and Justin looks at him, his eyes full of pain and worry._

_“Sometimes the body will reject the wolf,” he mumbles, and Stiles feels a full blown panic attack working its way to his throat. “It usually happens when the parents are two different kind of shifters, or when the child is born prematurely. I don’t know why it would be happening to Eli.”_

_“What do we do?” Stiles breaks, tears spilling down his face. In the few minutes they’ve been there, Eli has gotten worse, his breath now low and shallow, his skin pale. He looks at Stiles with cloudy brown eyes._

_“The seven herbs,” Justin says, and he grabs Stiles by the shoulders. “We have to get the seven herbs, Stiles. It’s the only way.”_

?

Stiles sleeps for three days, once he’s released from the hospital. And he spends a whole week holed up in his house, refusing to answer any calls from Derek or Scott or his dad. He gets a lot done. He gets all of Eli’s paperwork finished, and after a meeting with Mrs. Hart, he drops Eli off for his first day at school. He starts on the paperwork for the insurance policy, but that just makes him sad, so he ends up watching TV instead.

He isn’t surprised when Derek shows up at his house, looking cool and collected like always, and tells him to get into his car. He isn’t surprised that he complies, either, because even though they’re both two different people now, Derek still has a pull on him.

Stiles didn’t think he’d miss the way Beacon Hills smells after it rains. He’s been to a lot of rainy places. He sat on a park bench overlooking central park while the rain pulled and drizzled, and the place smelt like coffee and smoke and wet grass. He sat on a mountain in Washington, Eloise next to him, naked and breathless, as large, wet drops fell on them, but the world only smelt of lavender and vanilla and wet dog. Beacon Hills smells fresh and cold after a storm.

Derek is walking next to him, and they’re both quiet, taking in sparkling grass and avoiding puddles. It’s a comfortable silence. It really sucks, when Derek’s phone starts blaring.

Derek reaches quickly into his pocket, and then stop next to a park bench. He looks at the screen, then looks at Stiles apologetically. He answers, putting the phone to his ear, but before he can say anything, there’s hysterical screaming from the other line.

Stiles can’t make out the words, but Derek looks terrified. It takes all of the comfort out of the air. Derek quickly hangs up, looking at Stiles with wide, terrified eyes. “It’s Melanie,” he says, urgently.

Stiles takes out his car keys, and looks at Derek confidently. “Where do we need to go?”

“Deaton’s,” Derek says, and there’s fear in his voice. Stiles knows that fear. He’s experienced that kind of fear before, and that’s the only reason Stiles is rushing along with Derek to the clinic.

Deaton, it turns out, is not there, but Scott and Kira are, their daughter lying on one of the tables, breathing hoarsely, shivering and crying and coughing. Lydia looks frazzled next to them, which is saying something, because Lydia Martin never looks frazzled. She’s trying to get a hold of Deaton, but the phone keeps cutting to voicemail, and honestly Stiles thinks they need a new emissary because theirs is never there when they need him.

Jackson has Victoria in his arms, and he’s screaming at Scott and Scott’s screaming back, and both their daughters look like hell. Jackson says, “they were just playing at the park,” and even though his voice is elevated, there is genuine fear in it.

Kira looks at Derek, her eyes wet. “What’s wrong with her?” She asks, and her voice is small.

Derek looks at the little girl. Her eyes are bloodshot, and there’s blood around her mouth, and she’s having trouble breathing. Derek looks terrified. “I… I never thought this actually happened,” he says, “my mom always talked about it, but it never happened to any of us.”

Scott looks over at his beta, his eyes blaring red, his face stricken. “What is happening?” He growls.

“She’s dying,” Stiles cuts in, and Scott looks at him with anger. “Her body is rejecting the wolf.”

There’s a silence in the room, because no one wants to believe that the child is dying, but also because Stiles was the asshole that said it out loud. But Stiles isn’t stupid, and whatever happened between him and Scott doesn’t matter. He’s not letting a baby die.

He gets to work, moving past the stunned werewolves and looking over Deaton’s supplies. They’re all labeled in Latin, and there are so many jars that it’s almost impossible to sift through. Stiles manages to knock over a questionable blue liquid, and there’s a puff of smoke and a fizzing sound, like someone opened a can of coke.

Derek and Lydia and Isaac, who must’ve just got there, are suddenly next to him, and they ask him what he needs. He starts barking orders, finding all seven herbs he needs, and mixes them into a vile.

He looks over at Scott and Kira, who are holding their little girl, and for the first time in years, Stiles hears Scott pray. He goes around the other side, the vile in his hand, and Melanie looks up at him with wide eyes.

He puts the vile to her lips and tilts it, and the liquid fills her mouth. She gasps, and sputters and wheezes, and Scott grips onto her hand.

There’s a moment where she looks better, where her breathing is less labored and she’s looking at Stiles with clear eyes. Then she sucks in a breath, one that sounds like it hurts going down, and she stills, her eyes falling shut.

Stiles isn’t a werewolf, but he knows her heart stops. Knows that she isn’t breathing. He knows because Scott McCall is jumping over the table and slamming him into a wall, looking at him with red eyes, gripping at his throat with a claw filled hand. “What did you do?” He shouts, and Kira breaks down behind him, her hysterical sobs filling the room.

Stiles has a moment of surprise, because the whole room had trusted him to save that little girls life. No one had questioned what he was doing. Scott didn’t even try to stop him when he poured the liquid into the girl. It’s an unbelievable amount of trust. It’s a foolish amount of trust.

Stiles grabs the knife out of his belt, and slices upward, catching Scott in the face. Scott steps back, his eyes dark and hurt. Blood pools just under his eye, but the wound stitches together quickly. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Stiles hisses.

The whole room is looking at him. There’s pain and silence that is only broken by Kira’s sobs.

Scott blinks at him, his eyes draining of color, and he says, “What happened between me and you, that’s between us,” he’s on the verge of sobbing, and Stiles almost breaks down, too, “why did you have to take _her_?”

Stiles doesn’t have time to answer, because Melanie sucks in a breath, and she says, “Daddy?” and Scott is turning around and rushing to her. She’s breathing normally, and she looks over Scott’s shoulder, directly at Stiles, and says, “That tasted icky.”

Stiles walks out of the room. He hears Derek try to follow him, but he tells him to fuck off.

?

_For probably the hundredth time in his life, Stiles wishes Lydia Martin was here. It would make trying to translate Latin a hell of a lot easier. He’s learned some stuff during his time with the Schaffer pack, and then with Argent, but the seven words that Justin had scribbled onto a piece of paper look like nonsense._

_Maybe it’s because he’s sobbing too hard to read. He doesn’t really know. All he knows is that his son is dying, and Justin had sent him to the store, because Justin can take Eli’s pain and because Stiles was too much of a mess to be around his son._

_Life in Massachusetts was supposed to be easier. It was supposed to be the new start that they all needed._

_Someone at the grocery store takes pity on him, and she looks at the list and is stunned for a moment, before she nods and goes about grabbing everything he needs. Stiles, normally, would be paranoid, and would question her, but right now his son is dying, and this is his only hope, so he trusts her._

_He makes it back home in less than an hour, but it still isn’t quick enough. Eli looks worse. His eyes are red and bloodshot and there’s blood on his face. Stiles almost falls to the floor, looking at his broken son. Justin catches him, and he says, “Stiles. I need you to do this. You’re an emissary, you’re the only one who can.”_

_“I can’t,” Stiles pants, because he can’t do this. He can’t be responsible. What if he does it wrong?_

_“You have to,” Justin says, and he’s crying, too._

_Justin drops him then, and he lands on his knees, the containers of herb spilling onto the floor. He looks at them, at the seven ingredients, and then at the cup of water on Eli’s night stand._

_He doesn’t know how he does it. He’s on autopilot, but he manages to spoon each herb into the cup. The resulted liquid is blue and thick, and Stiles isn’t sure Eli is going to be able to drink it, but he tips the cup and spills the drink into his son’s mouth._

_Eli looks at him between gulps, and his eyes are clear. He’s smiling, and he reaches out for Stiles, and Stiles is so relieved. He’s so happy that it actually worked. He reaches for Eli, and he grabs his son into a hug, laughing and crying._

_Eli goes limb. Stiles lets go, and he moves back far enough to see his son’s glazed over eyes, he can feel that the air around his mouth is still._

_It didn’t work._

_Stiles breaks down, and Justin howls, and they’re both crying and screaming and fighting. Stiles punches the ground, and Justin tears a hole into Eli’s blanket. Stiles has never felt this much pain in his life. Even when his mother died, it was nothing compared to this._

_He wants to run. He wants to go dig a hole and bury himself. He throws up, even though he hasn’t eaten all day, and he heaves and cries and hates himself._

_But then Eli is taking a breath, and he’s saying, “Daddy? Papa?”_

?

There’s a knock on his front door, and Stiles expects it to be Derek. That’s why he doesn’t check first before opening it. He comes face to face with Scott.

He should’ve expected it. Honestly, Scott probably wants to know what Stiles had done to his daughter, and how he knew how to save her, but it doesn’t mean that he’s ready or happy to be talking with Scott.

He lets him in anyways, because Stiles is a parent and he knows what it’s like to watch what just happened.

He doesn’t say anything. Just walks to the kitchen and lets Scott follow him. His dad is at work and Eli is at school, so it’s just the two of them. Just like old times.

Scott says, “We got a hold of Deaton.” And Stiles just nods, because Deaton always shows up after all the drama is over. “He said that what you did, you saved Melanie’s life. He said she would’ve died.”

“The seven herbs,” Stiles says, like that will mean anything to Scott. Maybe Deaton explained it to him. He doesn’t know. He just knows that he doesn’t want Scotts thanks, because he didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t of done.

“Why?” Scott says, and Stiles looks at him, confused. Scott throws his hands in the air, frustrated. “Why are you here? You obviously don’t want to be. You hate all of us. You’ve been here weeks, but you haven’t made any effort to get a house or a job or start a life here. You put Eli in school, but I think that’s mostly for your sanity and not because it’ll help him adjust here.”

Stiles gets angry, and he says, “Don’t act like you know anything about me.”

Scott throw his hands up again. “That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know you anymore. None of us do. I thought that if I just treated you like I used to, that you’d prove you’re still the same guy. But you’re not. You’re a stranger and I let you put some mysterious liquid into my daughter’s mouth. And that’s probably the best decision I’ve ever made, because without you she’d be dead, but I just want to know why.”

Stiles looks down, considering what Scott is saying. It’s true. They’re all strangers, now. Derek and Isaac and Cora are actually happy, an emotion Stiles didn’t know they could possess. Scott seems like… a decent alpha. Jackson isn’t a douche anymore. Everyone grew up.

Stiles decides to throw Scott a bone. “It happened to Eli,” he says, and Scott looks surprised. It’s probably the first piece of personal information that Scott is hearing directly. “When I gave him the medicine, and he stopped breathing. I almost died, too. It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. Seeing him there, so small and vulnerable. He counted on me to protect him, but how do you protect him from something like that?”

Stiles sits down at the kitchen table, and Scott does the same. He’s listening quietly, watching the way Stiles’ eyes drift when he talks, like he’s looking at the memory in the air. “But then he was breathing again, and looking at me, and saying ‘papa?’ and I knew he was going to be okay. You were right, Scott. No matter what bad blood we have between us, Melanie didn’t deserve to die.”

Scott looks at his hands. “I don’t have any bad blood with you,” he says, like life is that simple. Like Stiles can forget the pain he felt when he was kicked out of the pack.

“Well I hate you,” Stiles says, but it has the opposite effect as he wants it to, because Scott laughs. What an asshole.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Scott says, and Stiles bristles. Scott laughs again. It’s an odd interaction, and Stiles is starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable with how humorous Scott thinks all of this is.

“Shut up,” Stiles tries, but Scott laughs again, and then Stiles is laughing. This is all too crazy. Stiles can’t handle it.

He walks Scott to the door, and he says, “Nothing has changed.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, but there’s something in his voice. He doesn’t believe him.

Stiles shuts the door, and looks at the knob, and thinks about what Scott said. He still hates him. It’s a hatred that runs deep in his body. It’s the kind of feeling that keeps him awake at night, long after everyone else is asleep. It’s in his blood. But, Stiles also thinks that he’s starting to understand him.


	12. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever!!! It was the end of my semester, and I had finals and stuff, but it's here!!

_Stiles isn’t really sure why, out of all the things he could be doing with his life, he’s in some tiny classroom, listening to a professor for intro to drawing talking about different kinds of pencils._

_He isn’t sure why he’s taking intro to drawing. It’s a passion, he guesses, that he’s always had, but kept secret. He used to doodle pictures of Harris in his notebook. He had a couple pictures of Derek’s full shift. But it wasn’t something he thought he’d be doing. If he was honest, he always thought he’d join the station, just like his dad. But that’s out of the question now, so when Justin suggested college, and Stiles had stared at the list of classes, he shrugged and picked this one._

_He didn’t know there was so much that goes along with drawing a picture. All of his drawings before this had been done with a pen, or a regular number 2, and now he’s learning about lead weight and shading and smudging._

_His head drips. He’s tired. He has a baby at home, and a night job, and the stress of trying to buy couches and beds and sheets and things that he never had to think about before, because either his dad was doing it, or he was staying in hotels. He has to go grocery shopping after this, and he’s trying to remember is Justin had asked for white or wheat bread, when there’s a tap on his shoulder._

_He looks up, worried for a second that it’s the professor, but the guy’s still droning on, this time about erasures, and half the class is asleep, so there’s no reason why he would pick on Stiles. The guy next to him gives him a crooked grin, and he nods towards where Stiles has been doodling wolves, and he says, “that’s really good.”_

_Stiles looks down, he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it, but it’s Derek’s full shift. He blushes, and says, “thanks.”_

_“Wolves are my favorite, man,” the guy says, grinning, “definitely my spirit animal. I took a quiz on facebook once.”_

_Stiles snorts, and the guy laughs back, and he holds out a hand. He’s got wild hair and kind eyes, and Stiles isn’t the type to trust easily, but he takes the hand anyways. “I’m Stiles,” he says._

_“Mikey,” the guy says back, and he’s grins, and Stiles grins back._

?

Stiles has three lasagnas in his freezer, five pans of brownies on his table, and a werewolf infestation in his living room. Because apparently saving the daughter of the alpha has made him a hero in Beacon Hills, and the pack’s way of repaying him is by filling his fridge and crowding his house.

Apparently, his dad had agreed to hosting a party, and when Stiles had tried to take Eli and run, his dad had frowned and said _“Stiles, you need a bigger support system than just me.”_

Stiles doesn’t know why his support system has to be _them._

He’s hiding as best he can while also being polite. Which means he’s sitting at his kitchen table, keeping one eye on Eli and Victoria through the window, and avoiding a mass of people in the living room. He has his laptop, and he’s scrolling through job listings, and he’s wondering if he’s making the biggest mistake of his life by actually settling down here.

But Eli and Victoria are squealing, chasing each other with huge grins, and his dad is laughing by the grill, and he can, for the first time, breathe.

He hears a chair slide across the wood floors, and he turns to see Derek settling in across from him. Derek nods, and he pushes a box across the table.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, and he grabs the box slowly, peering down onto a cake with white frosting and _Thank You_ written in yellow. He peers up at Derek, who shrugs and says, “Scott couldn’t make it, and Kira wanted me to give this to you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and he shoves the cake into the middle of the table.

He glances back at Eli, and watches as he dives head first into the ground, but he tucks and rolls and springs back up. He sighs, and he continues scrolling through his computer.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, quietly, and when Stiles glances up, Derek avoids his eye.

Stiles snorts, and says, “You’re ridiculous,” and adds, “I’m looking for a job.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then _suddenly_ everyone is in the kitchen, crowding around the table and staring at Stiles with a mix of excitement and eagerness to please.

Cora pushes her way into the seat next to him, and she grabs his hand and says, “Derek with need someone to help him out once I go on maternity leave.” Isaac is behind her, nodding his head, and Stiles blinks.

Stiles looks at Derek. Derek shrugs at him, and he says, “I have my own construction business. It’s mostly small scale. We do renovations for people around the city. Stuff like that.”

Stiles can’t really process what is going on, mostly because he’s thinking about Derek swinging a hammer and sweaty and shirtless and beautiful, and also because he’s wondering when his life turned into an HGTV show. Sad, lonely, bi man, reeling after the death of his husband, finds solace in rebuilding old homes. Flip or Flop: Beacon Hills.

Stiles shakes his head, and he huffs. “Do I look like I can do construction?” He asks.

“There’s more to it than that. Derek has a crew. He needs someone to answer the phone, book projects, take care of the money,” Cora says, but then Lydia is slamming her hands on the table and looking at Stiles with critical eyes.

Jackson pokes his head over her shoulder, and says, “We’ve been looking for someone to talk to our clients while we’re busy,” he says, and Stiles turns his confusion over to the pair.

“What?”

“I’ll give you the job, Stilinski,” Lydia says, “but Jackson and I have worked hard to build this nonprofit, and if you mess anything up, I will chop off your balls and feed them to Prada.”

And then, before Stiles has time to even process that threat, Hayden is bobbing her head and yelling, “the pharmacy is always looking for new cashiers.”

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles shrieks, looking around at the group. Danny has his phone out, and Jackson’s boyfriend is leaning on his shoulder, mumbling things like “doesn’t pay much,” or “the owner is a dick.” Jackson is pulling out flyers of his and Lydia’s nonprofit, and Hayden is arguing with Cora about which job is better. Stiles has absolutely no idea how this happened.

He holds up his hands, and he yells, “Guys, shut up!” There is instant silence.

They’re all looking at him, and there’s a hint of sheepishness in the air, and Isaac is smiling apologetically at him. Stiles sighs, and he runs his hand through his hair, and he says, “I appreciate it, I really do. But I want to at least try to get a job in my field. I got the degree, I might as well use it.”

The group exchanges quick looks. Lydia asks, “you have a degree?” Like it’s a shock that Stiles went to college. What did they think he’s been doing this whole time?

Stiles nods. “Advertising and graphic design. I worked for a small startup in New York, creating flyers and slogans and whatever. I had to quit when I left.”

There’s silence again, and Stiles is surprised he managed to shut everyone up. Before, when they were teenagers, there was never a quiet moment.

Derek clears his throat, and he says, “do you make business cards?”

Stiles brightens, because yeah, actually, he does. Or he has, in the past. He pulls out his wallet, and he pulls out his set of cardstock business cards, and he grins as he hands Derek one with his name in the middle.

_Stiles Stilinski-Cavett: Advertising._

Derek looks at it, and Stiles can see it in his eyes, his surprise at how _plain_ it is. He waves his hand, and he says, “Yeah, yeah, it’s boring.” Before he pulls out another card.

This one is for Michael Terrance, author of the web comic _Feral._   The cursive writing continues even after his name, forming a line and a pencil. On the back, there’s a sketched wolf and a hooded figure. Stiles grins. “I met him in college. He’s the first person who ever commissioned me. His comic is pretty cool, too.”

Derek looks at it, and he slowly grins, and he says, “Do you think you could make me some?”

?

_“Okay, but get this,” Mikey says one day in the middle of the semester. They’re at a coffee shop, and it’s a half an hour before drawing starts. “Werewolves.”_

_Stiles laughs, “Dude. Werewolves are already a thing in fiction. Did you not read_ Twilight? _”_

_“No, dude,” Mikey says, shaking his head, “my werewolves are different. None of that teen bullshit and just straight up monster madness.”_

_“Dude, there’s literally millions of those,” Stiles says._

_Mikey narrows his eyes, and he says, “Well look who knows all about werewolves.”_

_Stiles can’t help but snort. At this point in their relationship, Stiles knows that Mikey’s human, and blissfully unaware that the things that go bump in the night sleep in Stiles’ bed. Stiles has no intention of telling him that werewolves are real, mostly because he knows that Mikey would flip his shit._

_“I’m not trying to be an ass,” Stiles says, holding up his hands, “I just think that you need more than ‘werewolves’ if you’re going to write a comic.”_

_“You’re asking way too much,” Mikey says, but he’s grinning, and Stiles knows that Mikey knows if his dream is going to come true, he needs to actually make an effort. “Dude, you actually make me work.”_

_Stiles rolls his eyes, “It’s part of my charm. Holding people accountable.”_

_“How does Justin put up with you?” Mikey asks, and he bumps Stiles’ shoulder._

_“I’m a great lay,” Stiles says, and Mikey snorts._

_“Let’s go to class,” he laughs._

?

“Don’t tell me your company name,” Stiles says once everyone has left his house, and him and Derek are at the kitchen table. Stiles has his laptop and sketch book, and he’s looking at Derek critically. “Hale Houses?” He says, and then shakes his hands, “Demolition Derek?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re being an idiot,” he says, but there’s a smile on his face.

“This is prime stuff, Derek. People love alliterations,” he says, “Don’t you watch TV? House Hunters, Love it or List it, Flip or Flop. You gotta have a name that sells.”

Derek huffs, and he runs a hand through his hair and says, “My company does just fine, thank you.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, and he leans forward, and he says, “What’s it called, Derek.”

Derek and him stare at one another. Derek is hesitant, and almost embarrassed, if you look hard enough. It has Stiles dreading his answer. Then Derek says, “Hale’s construction company.”

“No!” Stiles shouts, drawing out the o before he erupts into giggles. “Dude, c’mon. That’s worse than Hale’s houses. How could Cora let you do this?”

Derek’s cheeks color pink, and he says, “Cora didn’t have a say. This is my company. And the name is fine.”

Stiles points at him, his finger shaking. “You are an advertising nightmare,” he says.

“Well that’s what you’re for,” Derek says, and he leans forward. The moment is suddenly quiet, tender, flirty, and Stiles can’t help but be drawn in. He leans forward, too, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m always saving the day, huh?” He mumbles, “Nice to know things haven’t changed.”

“They haven’t,” Derek says, and then they’re kissing.

Kissing Derek is everything Stiles always thought it would be, and it’s nothing like how kissing Justin had been. Justin had always been gentle, tender. Their kisses were slow and long,

Derek kisses like he’s dying. He kisses Stiles like he’s never going to get to again. And he’s not, because this is wrong. Stiles’ husband just died. Stiles didn’t come here to make out with guys and flirt and be happy. But for a moment, he’s sucked in, and he can’t stop his eyes from drooping closed, and small, needy sounds coming from his mouth. 

Derek stands, and he pounces forward, grabbing onto Stiles with his whole body. Stiles grabs back, digging his fingers into Derek’s arms. For a moment, his mind is blank, and all he knows if that kissing Derek feels good.

Just as quickly as it began, Stiles is pulling away. Reality is hitting him, and he knows that his son is upstairs taking a bath, his dad is with him, and his husband is in a grave thousands of miles away.

“I can’t, Derek,” he pants, and Derek looks sad.

“You don’t have to be sad forever,” Derek says.

Stiles closes his eyes. “I can’t.”

Derek steps away, and Stiles is suddenly cold. He feels Derek looking at him, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

He hears Derek walk away, and the front door open and close, and suddenly his face is wet.


	13. Part Four: Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long. I honestly don't have an excuse besides the fact that I'm lazy. But I've been working on this fic for literal years, so I promise I'm going to finish it.

_It’s a Friday, the night Stiles falls out of love. Or, maybe that’s not right. He’s not even sure he was in love with Eloise to begin with. Sure, she smelt nice, and he liked the way her hair tickled his skin when they kissed. But after a year and a half, the passion that pulled them together, the excitement about being strangers, is gone._

_It’s a Friday, and Stiles is dangling his feet off the edge of Eloise’s bed, listening to music streaming on her computer while she highlights a section in her textbook. She mumbles when she studies, whispering words about a calculus equation. Stiles hasn’t so much as looked at a math since he left Beacon Hills, and there’s something so painfully familiar about this situation._

_Stiles looks at Eloise. Her hair shines in the light, a deep, fiery red. He’s torn between wanting to run his fingers through it, and just wanting to run away._

_“I killed someone,” Stiles says, quietly, though he’s sure Eloise hears. She doesn’t look up, and she does her best to keep her shoulders relaxed, but the marker stops suddenly. “You asked me what I did, why I ran, that’s why.”_

_Her eyes snap up, catching his, and she looks unsure. She had only asked him once why he had left, but Stiles had refused to answer._

_“What are you talking about?” Eloise asks, her voice low._

_“It was self-defense,” he continues, “but, no one believed me. Or they didn’t care. Or they were too stupid to form their own opinion. I don’t really know.”_

_It’s a painful truth, even after all these years. The memory still has claws, the wound still stings._

_He still finds himself waking in the middle of the night, trying to even his breathing so Eloise doesn’t stir, and wondering how he could mean so little to the people he loved so much._

_Eloise doesn’t love him, and he doesn’t love her, at least not in the way that matters. Not in a way that can keep him here. Yet, she still looks at him with unwavering eyes. “Your heart is good, Stiles,” she says, and he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “It’s strong. I never sensed anything malicious about you. Whatever happened in the past, it’s in the past.”_

_Maybe if Eloise had known him then, maybe she’d turn her back, too. Stiles isn’t nice. He isn’t a good person. Stiles lives in a grey area, where the only things that matter are the people he cares about. But, over the last year, Stiles has learned that he isn’t a_ bad _person either. He’s neither and both at the same time._

_Eloise is a good person. She’s strong and determined and beautiful. She smiles at babies and carries in groceries for her neighbors. She deserves someone else who is as good as her._

_She deserves someone who loves her. Not Stiles. Where Eloise’s hands were always clear, Stiles’ are covered in blood._

_Eloise tilts her head, and she lets her eyes close, her lashes fluttered on her cheeks. “This is a farewell, isn’t it?”_

_She’s always been smart, but she still finds ways to amaze him._

_“Yes,” he whispers._

_Eloise smiles, full and bright, and reaches out to stroke his cheek. “Don’t be a stranger,” she says, and it’s funny, because Stiles has always been a stranger. He laughs, and she laughs too. “Stay tonight. I’ll make it worth your while.”_

_Stiles snorts, and he says, “You always do.”_

_They kiss, and it’s hot and desperate, but it lacks passion, lacks excitement. They fuck, but at this point it’s a routine, and Stiles gets the sense that Eloise doesn’t really mind that he’s leaving._

?

It’s been twenty-four hours since Derek kissed him, and Stiles is suffering from withdrawal. When he first came here, he didn’t think he needed anyone’s help. He’s been on his own before, it’s not like he’s completely useless, but coming back, and Derek being here, and his kindness and helpfulness, made Stiles realize something.

He’s completely alone, and he doesn’t know how to do this.

He can pretend all he wants, but he’s completely fucked. Derek had made him feel safe and secure. His friendship was unexpected, and now that Stiles has had a taste, he can’t stop.

But a relationship? That’s too far. That’s too much of a commitment for Stiles, and it’d be like taking a giant shit on Justin’s grave.

Stiles doesn’t know if he should call Derek. He doesn’t know if he should apologize. He doesn’t know if Derek answered, whether the words out of his mouth would be “I’m sorry” or “What the fuck?” Why did Derek have to do this to him? When Stiles was ready and willing and completely in love, Derek didn’t want him, Derek _left_ him, but now he’s ready to jump his bones?

Stiles slams his head on his kitchen table, and winces when pain flickers in the back of his head. This whole thing with Derek is giving him a headache. Derek Hale is literally a headache.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He should be watching TV with Eli, or planning the next trip to the grocery store, or some kind of adult thing. Are taxes due yet? Stiles doesn’t know, because he’s too busy freaking out over Derek freaking Hale.

It’s nearing ten at night, and Stiles is sixteen again.

The truth is, while the Derek issue is something to worry about, Stiles isn’t so much freaked out about Derek as he is about this town. Sometime overnight, the air got thicker, and Stiles can feel that hell is coming.

He doesn’t know what’s going on, and that worries him. His only connection into the McCall pack’s on goings was Derek, and now that line has snapped. Something bad is going to happen, and Stiles is completely cut off.

When it had been just his life on the line, Stiles didn’t worry about bad air or dark feelings. He had put himself into hundreds of deadly situations, not caring if he came out or not. When it was just him, he trusted himself enough to know he could kick ass, and if not, if he failed, at least it’d just be him dead.

But now he was Eli, and now his life means something.

Stiles glances over to where his son is watching _The Avengers_. He’s laying down, on the verge of sleep, mumbling quietly to himself. When Justin had been alive, he would tell Stiles what Eli was saying. Usually it’s nonsense, something only the kid would understand. Not knowing makes Stiles’ chest hurt.

He’s cut off from his fretting by the sharp hiss of his cellphone. He startles, and Eli rolls, peering up over the edge of the couch at his papa. He rushes over to where his phone is on the counter, and frowns at the unknown number.

He hesitates, because it could be anyone on the other end, and Stiles doesn’t know if he wants confirmation that something bad is happening. He lets the call go to voicemail, but then the ringing starts again, the same number.

He picks up with an uncertain, “Hello?”

“Oh thank God you answered.” The voice on the other line is deep and crackled and painfully familiar.

“Scott?” He asks, confused, before anger washes over him, “who gave you my number?”

“Derek,” Scott answers, still naïve and dumb. But his words keep rushing out, not giving Stiles a chance to curse the asshole Hale who’s apparently trying to ruin his life. “But that’s doesn’t matter right now. I need you and Eli to get down to the Hale house. There’s an unknown pack circling Beacon Hills.”

Suddenly, Stiles can’t breathe. Panic seizes his lungs, and pain shoots up his throat. He knew something bad was happening. Deep down, he knew _this_ would happen, but he wanted to believe that he was capable of protecting himself, and protecting Eli.

He’s torn, because this is his enemy, the overarching villain to Stiles’ story, and he’s offering him and Eli protection, asylum. He wants to bite out, to hiss and scream and say, “I can protect my son, thank you very much.”

But he knows he can’t protect him. Not against this.

“Fine,” Stiles says, leveling his breathing.

“Parrish and Lydia should be by your house in a few minutes,” Scott says, and he sounds worried. “Be safe, Stiles.”

Stiles hangs up. He looks over at Eli, who is watching him with watery brown eyes. He smiles. “Go pack a bag, pup,” he says, “We’re going to have a sleepover.”

?

_Stiles is eight months over his break up with Eloise, when her number appears on his phone. He doesn’t really know why he saved it. Maybe because he knows not to burn bridges, especially when you’re on your own. Or maybe he had hoped that one day, him and Eloise could be friends._

_He’s in a bar, despite only being twenty, sipping on a rum and coke a blue-eyed stranger had bought him. The guy winks at him from across the bar, and Stiles shoves the phone back in his pocket, grinning shyly back. He’ll call Eloise back later, right now he’s too busy trying to get laid._

_Life for him, two years out of Beacon Hills, has gone pretty all right for him. He’s leaner now, thanks to the training with Chris, and he’s grown into his big personality. He floats around, a drifter, getting laid and drinking and moving on to the next city._

_It’s not the life he had imagined for himself, but it’s not shitty._

_His phone starts to vibrate again, and he frowns. Eloise never calls back twice. She used to tell him she was worth a pick up on the first ring, that she wasn’t some whiney bimbo who calls nonstop._

_He pulls his phone out, and looks, just to confirm that it is her. Her name is written across the screen, accompanied by a smiling picture. His frown deepens, and he clicks answer._

_“What’s up?” He asks, putting his phone to his ear. He doesn’t know what he expects, but beautiful, smart, and cool Eloise crying and screaming wasn’t it. “Woah, Eloise, what’s going on?” He asks, his heart beat increasing._

_All he gets out of her sobs are, “Hunters,” and “baby.”_

?

Parrish pulls up, siren blaring, red and blue lights dancing, and Eli clutches to Stiles, burying his face into the back of his shirt. Stiles frowns, and glares at the pair as they walk up to where father and son are standing on the front step.

“Stealth really isn’t the McCall pack’s strong suit, huh?” Stiles says, motioning towards where his neighbors are peering out the windows. “The lights and the siren seem a little unnecessary. And you freaked out my son, so thanks for that.”

Eli whimpers, clawing at his ears, and Stiles’ glare darkens.

Lydia looks at him, unimpressed, and says, “Stealth, no. But speed?”

Parrish at least has the decency to look apologetic, and he kneels in front of Eli. “Sorry that we scared you,” he says, his voice level and genuine. “It’s just a police car. Do you know what the police are?”

Eli blinks, and he says, “grandpa’s a police.”

Parrish nods, “Yeah. The police are the good guys, they protect you.”

Stiles snorts, and Lydia glares back at him, and he decides that if Parrish wants to calm down his son, he’ll let him.

Eli takes a hesitant step out from behind him, and he looks at Parrish’s cruiser. “Where are we going?” He asks.

“Somewhere safe,” Parrish says, “somewhere where no one will hurt you.”

Eli takes Parrish’s hand, and he says, “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” and Stiles’ heart breaks.

Lydia wasn’t kidding about what she said about speed. It takes them five minutes to get in the car and pull into the Hale’s long driveway. He feels the wards, thick and sturdy, as they pull up closer to the house. The magic isn’t as strong as Eleanor’s, it’s not even as strong as his own, but Stiles suspects it’s more of a warning.

Every light in the Hale house is on, and it lights the place up like a fortress. In the dark, the house looks strong and unwavering. Stiles wonders how the house ever fell in the first place.

Derek and Cora are on the front steps, talking quietly. They watch the car pull up next to Jackson’s, and they hush when Stiles and Eli emerge.

Stiles looks straight at Derek, but Derek is looking anywhere but at him. It infuriates him, and he stalks right past them.

The house is full of people. There’s a low buzz of conversation, and Stiles catches a few whispered words. There’s worry of an attack, or a fight over land. Stiles finds out that Scott isn’t there, that he went with Isaac and Liam to confront them.

A few minutes into being there, Eli slumps against his leg. Stiles gathers the sleeping boy into his arms, draping him over his shoulder, when Cora grabs his hand.

“There’s a bedroom down here,” she says, smiling at him softly. She looks like she understands what he’s going through. Maybe she does. She has one hand placed on her belly.

The bedroom is quiet and bright and Stiles tucks Eli into the bed. He hesitates about leaving, but then Cora whispers, “Scott is back,” so he goes down the hall.

The house is suddenly quiet, as the alpha walks in, his two betas in tow. He looks confused, and unsure, and uneasy. Everyone is quiet as they wait for him to speak, but Stiles just wants to yell out, “what the fuck is going on?”

Scott looks up, and he catches eyes with Stiles as he says, “We don’t know much. The alpha refused to meet with us. All we know is that they’re a pack from Massachusetts.”

Stiles feels heat all over his body, and his throat threatens to close once again. He takes a shuddering breath in, and he whispers, “why would they follow me here?”

He knew this would happen, but part of him had hoped. Hoped that if he came back to Beacon Hills, that if he pretended to have joined the McCall pack again, that they wouldn’t of come. Stiles should’ve known better.

Scott takes a step towards him, and he says, “what’s going on, Stiles?”

Stiles looks at him, letting his fear and panic show. He had worked so hard to pretend everything was fine. He worked so hard to come back here and not need them, but he does need them. “They’re here for Eli.”

There’s an uneasiness in the house now, even thicker than it had been before. Everyone is looking at him, and Derek takes a step forward, confusion on his face. “Laura and I went to the Massachusetts pack after the fire. I know them personally. They don’t tear apart families. They wouldn’t take a son from his father.”

Stiles makes eye contact with Derek. It’s the first time they’ve looked at each other since they kissed. Derek looks confused and pained. He looks like he’s been lied to. He has.

“I’m not Eli’s father,” Stiles says.

There’s a tense silence that follows. Everyone is shifting, and looking around, and tension is growing. There’s a mix of confusion and betrayal and fury, and it’s all directed at Stiles.

After a few seconds, Malia blurts out, “Oh my god, Stiles, did you kidnap a kid?”


	14. Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I'm so sorry this took so long!!! I promise that I will finish this fic eventually. I'm not just going to leave everyone hanging.

 

_Stiles steps outside the bar, and he squints in the blinding light of the sun. It’s a cheery day, happy in small town Iowa, with people milling around and birds chirping and dogs barking. Stiles wouldn’t have expected the hysteria that is happening on the other end of his phone._

_“Eloise, I can’t understand you, what is going on?” In the year and a half that he had known Eloise, he had never seen her this upset. There were moments, when she had a particularly bad day, where she would huff or rant or even cry, but the panic in her voice, her echoing sobs, are uncharted territory._

_“Hunters, Stiles. Oh God. Oh God,” She cries._

_Stiles doesn’t know what that means. There are too many possibilities, and his brain can’t go there, it can’t imagine any one of those pack members hurt. He loved them, in the sense that they gave him a home when he had none._

_“El, what happened?” He says again, quiet, gentle. He hears Eloise take a breath. It sounds forced and painful._

_“My sister is dead,” she says._

_This gives Stiles pause. On the one hand, Stiles had never met Elizabeth. On the other, he knew how much she had meant to Eloise, and he knows what it’s like to lose someone that important to you._

_“Shit, Eloise. Do you want me to come back? Do you need anything?”_

_There’s a long pause, and Stiles can hear Eloise’s breathing. He can hear her calming herself down. When she speaks, her voice is no longer broken by sobs. “Hunters took out the whole pack, Stiles,” she says, “the Cavett pack wasn’t even a threat. They were small, friendly. And hunters just surrounded them. They didn’t even- they didn’t know they were coming.”_

_Stiles sits down on a bench. He didn’t know any of the Cavetts. The only ones Eloise ever talked about were Elizabeth, and her fiancée, Justin. Stiles knew he was the next in line to be alpha, and knew that was why Elliot disowned Elizabeth. He didn’t know any of them personally, but their death weighs heavily on him. No one deserved what happened to them._

_“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says._

_“There were five survivors,” Eloise continues, “two girls who are in New York for school. The alpha ran, apparently, when his wife died. And Justin.” The tears start again, Stiles can hear them in her voice. “My sister gave birth during the attack, Stiles,” she cries, “she was injured and she made Justin take the baby and run. He didn’t want to, he wanted to die with her. How can… how can hunters do this? Elizabeth and Justin never did anything to anyone. They were good people, Stiles.”_

_Stiles doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t have anything good to say, he can’t make her feel better. He’s known a lot of good people who didn’t deserve the bad shit that happened to them._

_Eloise takes a breath, and then she says, “I need your help, Stiles.”_

_“Anything,” he promises._

_“Justin came to us, he begged and pleaded with my grandfather to let them into the pack, or to at least take the child. My grandfather turned him away,” her grief is replaced by anger, now. “I need you to find them, Stiles. They’re probably heading to New York. I need you to save them.”_

_Stiles knows what she’s asking. She’s asking him to protect them, to let him into his walls, his barriers and spells. Stiles should hesitate, but this is Eloise, so he says, “Of course.”_

?

The tense silence in the Hale house is cut in half by Stiles’ glare. “Of course I didn’t kidnap him,” he hisses. It’s a ridiculous accusation. Stiles loves Eli, and Eli obviously loves Stiles. That’s not something you can force. “Legally, he’s mine. He’s mine in every way that matters, expect that biologically, he’s Justin’s, and as far as the Tesi pack is concerned, I’m a human raising a werewolf.”

Stiles is frustrated. He’s had this child since he was a baby, he knows his hopes and fears. He taught him how to tie his shoes and ride a bike. He woke up in the middle of the night when Eli had nightmares, and made him pancakes on his birthday, and took pictures on his first day of school, and kept him fed and clothed and healthy. The idea that anyone would think that Stiles can’t raise him is absurd.

He looks up at Scott. The alpha looks shocked and betrayed, and Stiles has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Scott clears his throat, and says, “Maybe they’re not here to take him. If legally he’s yours, then they can’t. Maybe they’re just here to check on him.”

Stiles snorts. “You have a pack surrounding your territory, literally caging you in, and you think they’re here on friendly terms?” He asks, “You’re a lot dumber than I remember.”

There’s a growl, though Stiles can’t tell where it’s coming from. It’s like an echo, surrounding him, and he wonders if maybe it’s coming from multiple of the wolves.

Scott flashes his eyes, and instantly the growls stop. “I’m not… I just don’t understand why they would take him from you.”

Stiles huffs, and he can feel fear and panic taking over. He hasn’t lost himself in a long time. Hasn’t completely given into his emotions, but right now he has no choice. “Because I can’t raise him, Scott,” He yells, “Not alone. Not the way we’ve been living. Justin and I pretended like the supernatural didn’t exist, and guess how that turned out. Let me give you a hint, one of us is dead.”

It’s stupid and Stiles feels weak and unhinged and useless, because he can’t help his son. “It was easier, before. Even if I didn’t have Justin, because Eli was just a beta. But with Justin’s death….” Stiles huffs, and he rubs at his eyes, which are watery, “Justin was next in line. He was supposed to inherit the alpha powers, once his father died. But now that’s Eli’s fate.”

Scott still looks confused, unsure, but understanding shines in Derek and Cora’s eyes. They were born wolves, after all. They know about hierarchies and levels.

“It means the pull, the instinct, the change intensifies,” Cora says, looking at Scott. “It means that one day, Eli will be an alpha, and most packs don’t want two alphas.”

Stiles’ panic reaches it’s peak, and he can feel his throat getting tight. He claws at his face, trying to reel in the sob that’s coming. He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. He turns back towards the hallway, but he feels a hand on his wrist.

He turns, and he sees Cora, her brown eyes soft. “We won’t let them hurt him,” she says, but it’s a weak promise.

Stiles looks at Scott, his eyes dark and hard, “You owe me,” Stiles says. It’s heavy, because Scott owes him for a lot that he’s done, both now and back then. “I saved your child. You have to save mine.”

And he yanks his arm from Cora’s grasp, goes and collects Eli, and leaves.

?

_Stiles closes his eyes, letting the steady push and pull work its way through his body, listening to the hum of the magic. He had bought this locator spell off of a witch, and the magic is dark and foreign, yet comforting. Like it’s something new but exciting, different but welcoming._

_When he opens his eyes, he sees nothing but a dark, tree lined road. There’s nothing out here, hasn’t been anything for miles, just tree after tree after tree. The forest is dense and uninviting, and the hum of his engine keeps the animals away, making the world seem dead._

_He can’t decide if he should be nervous or scared or uncomfortable. It’s not every day you walk up to a man and his child, offering your aid after the death of his fiancée. This is definitely a first for him, at least._

_The magic is warm and steady, exactly how the witch explained it would be, once who was looking for has been found. Still, the trees are steady, and the night is quiet._

_He didn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know what Eloise expects from him. Is he really supposed to walk up to this guy, say “I know you don’t know me, but I promise I’m here to help.” What kind of help does he have to offer?_

_Not that it matters, because this spell apparently doesn’t work. He’s been sitting here for ten minutes, and there hasn’t been sign of_ any _life, let alone a guy and a child._

_He rests his head on his seat, looking up at the tops of the trees. Maybe he should just give up. He doesn’t owe this guy anything. This guy doesn’t even know he’s looking for him._

_A howl echoes off in the distance, and Stiles is suddenly alert. He looks around, his heart rate picking up, the hair of his arms straight up. He hears another howl, this time closer, and it sounds panicked and hurt and feral._

_He jumps out of his car, and heads off in the direction of the noise. Maybe it’s dumb. Stiles only has a hunting knife and a small vile of mountain ash. There’s not much he can do to protect himself, but there’s desperation in the cries, and Stiles is pulled forward._

_He walks for minutes through the dark, thick wood. It reminds him of the preserve, all the tall, dark trees. His heart clenches, because suddenly he’s sixteen again, looking in the woods for a body. He knows, deep down, that just like that night, he’s not coming out of the woods the same person._

_He gets half a mile from his car when he sees it. The crackling and sparks of a hunter’s weapon, and the low growls of a scared wolf. He slows, looking over the scene before him. There’s three people on the edges of an opening, and there’s a man in the middle, clutching a small bundle to his chest._

_The hunters are talking, whispering something, but every sound makes the wolf jump and startle. He’s smothering the baby to his chest, Stiles thinks that maybe he’s trying to shove the child inside himself._

_Stiles watches as a woman takes a hesitant step towards the boy, and she says, “We mean you no harm,” in a soft voice._

_The wolf growls, and he steps backwards, snapping his teeth. The woman looks at her companions._

_The wolf, Justin, backs towards the woods, but suddenly there’s a hunter there, too. He shivers, and curls back towards the middle of the clearing. Stiles is surprised by the hunter’s hesitation, the woman’s warm demeanor. They aren’t trying to hurt the wolf, Stiles doesn’t think. He thinks, uncertainty, that they’re trying to help him._

_The woman takes another hesitant step forward, and she asks, “What’s your name?”_

_The wolf growls, and the bundle in his arms lets out a sharp cry. The hunters start to mutter, and Stiles catches glimpses of “kidnapping” and “save the child.”_

_Stiles knows it’s now or never, so he walks towards the clearing, hold his head up high, and shouts, “Justin!”_

_Fearful, golden eyes turn towards him. He can sense Justin’s confusion, but also his desperation._

_The hunters look at him, and the woman steps forward. “Who are you?” She asks._

_“I’m here for him,” Stiles said, nodding towards the wolf. Justin looks at Stiles. He looks unsure, hesitant, but Stiles smiles warmly. “Eloise sent me.”_

_The tension in Justin’s shoulders relax a bit, but the hunters don’t move._

_“He’s a feral wolf,” the woman says, “with an unknown child. We can’t just let him go with you.”_

_“The child is his,” Stiles says, sharply, and the woman looks uncertainty towards Justin. “And I’m sure you’ve heard of the Cavett pack massacre. He’s not feral, he’s one of the only survivors. He watched your kind kill his whole family, and now you’re surrounding him.”_

_The hunters all shift uncomfortably. The woman is quiet, thinking for a moment, before she tells her hunters to take a step back. Almost instantly, the bright color drains from Justin’s eyes, and Stiles is peering into clear, human, blue. The woman breathes sharply, and then turns to Stiles, “Can you talk to him?”_

_Stiles takes a few, slow, steps into the clearing. Justin whines, and he collapses to the ground. Stiles continues walking, until he’s close enough to hear Justin’s shallow breathes, his sharp sobs, and see dark brown eyes peering from the bundle in his arms._

_Justin whispers, “help me.”_

_“I will,” Stiles says, and he’s surprised, but he means it._

?

Stiles gets back to his father’s house, but there isn’t much he can do. He can’t run. He can’t arm himself. In the end, Stiles is just a sitting duck, waiting to see how this will all play out.

His heart aches, because no matter how much he tried, he can’t protect his son. He has to rely on the McCall pack, and it makes Stiles feel sick.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes after he gets home, the Tesi pack breaks in. There’s yelling, and glass breaking, and Stiles swing a knife at the second in command, only to get pinned on the ground.

He screams as claws dig into his wrists, and screams louder as a wolf grabs Eli. He screams and he screams and he screams, as Eli is dragged from the house, as he is let go and left, broken and sobbing on the floor.

He springs up, and he runs after the pack. In the front yard, he’s met his resistance, met with the alpha, her eyes red and claws sharp.

“He’s mine!” Stiles yells, “You can’t take him. I’m his family.”

“He needs a pack,” the alpha says.

“I am his pack!” He shouts back, and he screams again, loud and urgent, and it sounds almost like a howl.


	15. Story time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... I genuinely don't know if you're going to like this or not. I hope you do!

Nothing prepares Stiles for how overwhelming the McCall pack in its entirety is. He knew that over the years, Scott has made friends. He’s met some of them during his time here. But having everyone, appear at once, shakes Stiles to his core.

He had just finished screaming, his throat raw, himself a heap in the grass. Then there’s an answering howl, and it sounds like an echo, growing as more wolves join in. It’s overwhelmingly loud, shaking trees, and lights start going out in the houses along the street. Stiles looks up, confused, and sees people.

There are people everywhere, and cars blocking the street, circling in the Tesi pack. He sees Parrish and his police cruiser, lights going off. He sees Lydia on the hood, long legs barely touching the ground, her eyes peaking over sunglasses. He sees Kira next to her, watching, quietly.

There’s blinking lights from werewolves’ eyes, some he recognizes, some he has no clue. They’re all tense and ready, claws out, teeth bared.

Then he sees Derek, tall and tense and human, walking next to Scott, approaching him, and approaching the Tesi alpha.

He can’t really register why they’re here, his brain is a mess. Are they helping the Tesi pack? Are they here to help him? He shakes his head, and he searches the mess of bodies for Eli.

Eli is getting shoved into a car, and he lets out another scream, pouncing forwards, yelling, “No! No, no, no, no!”

The Tesi alpha is there, wrapping her arms around him, throwing his down. He feels a crack, and sharp pain, and he’s sure something if broken, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is his son, screaming and crying and slashing.

There’s a deep growl, and both Stiles’ and the alpha look over to Derek and Scott. Their eyes are bright now, and their teeth are bared. Scott says, “Let him go,” in a low voice.

“Stiles is free to go,” the woman says, “But we’re taking the boy.”

“You can’t,” Stiles yells, “I’m his father.”

“You are no such thing,” she hisses back, “You’re a disease to the boy. You’ll ruin him if he stays.”

Stiles stills, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He knows he might not of always been the best father, but no one has ever said that about him.

Scott growls again, and he steps forward, in between Stiles and the alpha. “Stiles and Eli are mine,” he says, “You take him, and you’ll be starting a war with the McCall pack.”

“They don’t mean anything to you,” the woman says, “Eli needs a pack that will love and nurture him.”

“They mean everything to me,” Scott says, and he’s dangerously close to the alpha, now. “They are pack. And I’m sure you’ve heard about what we do when our pack is threatened. I will do anything to keep Eli here.”

There’s a long pause as the woman and Scott stare each other down. Stiles is looking up at them, his mouth gaping. He can’t believe Scott actually showed up. He can’t believe Scott is here to fight for Eli.

The woman looks over to the car where they shoved Eli, and she nods at the man guarding the door. He opens it, and Eli comes howling and bouncing out, shooting across the yard and into Stiles’ arms.

The alpha looks at Scott, and then at Stiles. “I’m not looking into starting a war with the McCall pack,” she says, “but I will be checking on him. And if I think he’s not being properly cared for, I will come back with reinforcements.”

Stiles doesn’t listen to the rest of the conversation, because he’s too preoccupied with nuzzling his son, and trying to pull his as close of physically possible. If he could, he would open himself up and shove Eli in there.

He vaguely registers the Tesi pack retreating, and Scott kneeling down next to him. Scott says something, but Stiles doesn’t hear, he’s too busy clutching Eli.

He feels Scott’s arms around him, but he’s too broken and scared to care. Something inside him warms, and for the first time in a long time, Stiles feels safe.

He cries, loud scream-like sobs, and Scott and Eli are there, hugging him.

?

_If anyone had asked him how he had done it, Stiles wouldn’t know how to answer. He honestly has no idea how he managed to get the hunters to let him take Justin and Elliot with him, or how they ended up at a diner twenty miles away. He was just kind of winging it._

_Justin still has the bundle pressed close to his chest, but he’s munching at a couple of French fries, while Stiles sips a strawberry milk shake. Justin hasn’t said anything, but he seems much more relaxed in the cozy booth than he did in the woods._

_The waitress sets down a glass of water, and eyes Justin suspiciously. As she walks away, Stiles leans forward, and says, “Dude, I think we need to get the kid a car seat so people stop thinking you snatched him out of a stroller.”_

_Justin looks at him, his blue eyes round, and then looks down at the baby._

_“Elizabeth and I…” he begins, and then pauses, “he was born early. We hadn’t gotten one yet.”_

_“Does he even have clothes on under that blanket?” Stiles asks, scrunching up his nose, “a diaper?”_

_Justin looks panicked, and Stiles sucks in a breath. “Alright, come on, we’re going to Wal-Mart.”_

_He throws down a twenty for the meal, and quickly hurries Justin out the door. Partly because he doesn’t want baby piss in his car, and also because he’s pretty sure the waitress called the cops._

_They settle in the car, Justin in the back, rocking the baby silently. He watches the man in the rearview mirror, looks at his dirty green shirt and ripped jeans, at the way he tightens the blanket around the small baby._

_“So Justin,” Stiles says, and the man catches Stiles’ eyes. “How’s it going?”_

_Justin looks at him, blankly, for a few moments. Then, suddenly, he lets out a sharp laugh. It’s painful and beautiful, all at the same time._

_He shakes his head, and he says, “You’re Eloise’s boyfriend, aren’t you? The omega.”_

_Stiles shivers, “I never liked it when her family called me that.” He frowns, and shakes his head. “The omega, like my worth is still determined by the pack that ruined my life.” He crinkles his nose, and then, when he catches the pained look in Justin’s eyes, and adds, “but yeah. Ex, now, but you get the gist of it.”_

_Justin nods, and he says, “She loves you.”_

_Stiles laughs at that, full and humorous, as he turns down a brightly lit road. “I don’t know about that,” Stiles says, and before Justin can say anything else he says, “So, is his name still Elliot?”_

_Justin looks down at the child, and he quietly answers, “yes.”_

_“Even after you realized Elliot Schaffer is an asshole?” Stiles asks, and Justin smiles at him._

_“He wasn’t always,” Justin answers, “at one point, he was a good alpha. And it’s what Elizabeth wanted.”_

_Stiles pauses for a moment, and he pulls the car into the parking lot. He parks, and he turns around in his seat, and he says, “Well I’m not calling him Elliot.” He peers at the bundle. The baby is quiet, but he’s watching Stiles with thoughtful brown eyes. “Eli,” he says, and Justin smiles. “Justin and Eli, are you ready to do this shit?”_

?

At some point, Derek takes Scott’s place. His body is warmer, and Stiles fits more comfortably against his chest. He buries his face into his clothes, breathing in deep, letting the feeling of Derek, and safety, and comfort wrap around him like a soft blanket.

Eli burrows between them, clinging to Stiles but resting his back against Derek. Stiles doesn’t want to leave. He isn’t really sure how long they stay there, on the grass in the front yard.

Then Derek breaks the silence. His lips press against the top of Derek’s head, and he mumbles, “It’s going to be okay.”

“They’re going to come back,” Stiles cries, his voice shaking. “They’re going to take him.”

“No one’s going to take him,” Derek promises, and Stiles can feel it in his bones. Derek isn’t lying. Derek is here for him.

“God,” Stiles moans, and tries to burrow deeper, “I missed you, Derek.”

It’s true. Derek has lingered in the back of his mind, always. Sometimes, late at night, he would give himself a few moments to close his eyes and think. What would had happened had Derek loved him back?

They were selfish, and dirty thoughts. He would always feel guilty, though Stiles knew Justin did the same thing too. Stiles always wanted Derek, and Justin always wanted Elizabeth. They were both two broken pieces, trying to glue themselves back together. Neither of them ever fit perfectly, but they filled some holes.

Derek sucks in a breath, and tilts until his lips are against Stiles’ ear. “I missed you, Stiles.”

Stiles shouldn’t give in. He shouldn’t just keep on loving Derek, but he can’t help it. Derek fits into all his jagged edges, even the ones Justin couldn’t.

?

_Justin and Eli aren’t in their hotel room, and Stiles panics for a whole five minutes. It’s not like he ever expected them to stay with him. He’s practically a complete stranger, but a few days turned into weeks turned into months and suddenly Stiles has had the pleasure of Justin William and Eli James Cavett in his life for six months. It’s been a wild six months. Stiles never imagined having a family, but Justin and Eli are the closest he’s ever come._

_He grabs his cellphone off of his bed, and notices Eli’s blanket and a few bottles on the other twin. Good, he thinks, relieved, they haven’t left._

_He heads out of the room, and down towards the dining hall, where he remembers the receptionist mentioned their being breakfast. That’s where he finds them, Justin leaning in a booth, Eli in a highchair, grinning as two old women ooh and aww, and try to feed him oatmeal._

_Justin looks up as Stiles comes in, and he grins, his eyes bright, his face open and vulnerable. It still surprises him how happy and honest and open Justin is. Stiles grabs a cup of coffee and makes his way to the table._

_One of the women looks up as Stiles approaches, and she grabs a hold of his arm and says, “he is such a handsome boy.”_

_“Uhh, thanks?” Stiles says, smiling weakly as he scoots closer to the baby. Eli is staring at a bowl of mushy brown oatmeal, one eye brow raised, and puts his fingers in hesitantly._

_“He looks just like you, dear,” the other woman says. Stiles looks at her, confusion all over his face, but Justin just laughs._

_“I keep telling him that but he doesn’t believe me,” he says, and he nudges Eli’s cheek, “Are you happy papa’s here, little pup?”_

_Eli lets out a happy squeal, and the two women aww, because their husbands come and pull them away._

_“Why do you tell everyone we meet that he’s mine?” Stiles asks, sitting across from the brown-haired boy._

_Justin shrugs, “I think it’s the brown eyes, but no one ever believes he’s mine. Besides, I think he likes you better.”_

_At that, Eli laughs, and plunges a handful of food into his mouth. Stiles frowns, but before he can say anything, Justin leans forward._

_“Look, I need to talk to you,” he says, seriously, and his blue eyes shine. Stiles swallows the fear building in his throat. “I have family in New York. Just a couple of cousins, but it’s still pack. I wanted to head out that way,” he says, and Stiles nods his head. This is it. The moment where he leaves, just like everyone else. “I want to know if you want to come with me.”_

_Stiles startles at that, and looks at Justin in surprise. He hadn’t thought about what it would mean, if Justin actually wanted him to stay._

_“I’d understand if this wasn’t something you’d want right now. I know that this was sort of forced on you, but you’re so good with Eli, and if you were with us, the Tesi pack would have a harder time taking him away.”_

_Stiles nods because Justin had told them about the Tesi pack, told him that once they know Eli is alive, they’ll come after them. Stiles doesn’t know what he can do to stop them._

_“Of course I want to come with you,” Stiles says, and he pinches Eli’s cheek, “I can’t get enough of this guy.”_

_Justin smiles, “Thank you.”_

_It’s a thank you for saving their lives, over and over again, and a thank you for being a father for Eli. Stiles nods at him, and he tries to think of something clever to say, something that would break the tension in the room, but he can’t._

_Stiles looks at Eli. He looks at his chubby cheeks and tuffs of brown hair, his round brown eyes, and he knows that he’s hopelessly in love._

?

Somehow, Stiles ends up back at the Hale house. He isn’t really sure how, he barely remembers Derek pulling him into the back seat of a car, barely remembers Derek whispering to him, playing with his hair, rocking him.

Eli falls asleep sometime during the ride, his little body unable to handle how traumatic the situation was. Derek carries him in, with Stiles limping behind him. The worst is over, but Stiles can feel an ache in his muscles, and there’s blood on his shirt.

Derek lays the child on the couch, and Stiles sits next to him, pulling his head into his lap, playing with his hair. Sometimes, when he’s asleep, Stiles can see Justin in the softness of his face. When he’s sleeping, his face is open and vulnerable, just like his father’s had been.

Derek takes a few steps back, and Stiles whines. He wants his comfort back, his warmth. Derek stays close by, but he’s too far to touch.

Scott sits down next to him, and Stiles recoils into himself. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get scolded, or yelled at, or told to get lost. Any of those seem likely. He looks around, for something other than Scott to look at, but the house is eerily empty.

“Stiles,” Scott says, and Stiles swallows. “You need to tell me everything.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Stiles tries, but he knows it’s false. He owes Scott an explanation. He owes _Derek_ an explanation.

“Stiles,” Derek says, softly, and Stiles catches his eyes. He breathes once. Then twice.

“It’s a long story,” he finally says, and Derek snorts, because it’s been _seven years._

“Take your time,” Scott says, and he grabs onto one of Stiles’ hands. His touch still makes Stiles’ hackles rise, but he doesn’t shove him away.

He sighs, and he says, “I was dating Eli’s aunt, back before she was an aunt. She was… is, I guess, a wonderful person. She took me in right after I left, she gave me a home and a pack and she loved me, at least for a little while. It was good, but it wasn’t great. So about a year after I left Beacon Hills, I left her, too.”

He laughs, thinking about Eloise, about his life back then. It had been so simple.

“I didn’t know this at the time, because my knowledge of werewolf families was pretty limited, but Eloise was a part of the Schaffer pack, and apparently their best-known quality is that they’re mega assholes.” Derek’s eyes light up at the mention of the name, he frowns at him. “Eloise’s sister, Eli’s mom, had left the pack because she was dating Justin. They got engaged, she got pregnant, everything was fine and dandy and great, until almost their whole pack was murdered by hunters.”

Derek bows his head, and he says, “The Cavett pack,” and Stiles nods. “There were two survivors. We heard about them through the grapevine. We offered salvation to them.”

“There were actually three,” Stiles says, quietly, nodding towards Eli. “His mother managed to live long enough to give birth to him. Justin took him and ran. He went to the Schaffer pack, to ask for help, but they denied him. Their alpha basically told Justin he should have died along with the rest of his family, and denied any blood relation to Eli. So Eloise called me, and since I owed her a favor for her basically saving my life, I sought out Justin.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and he bites his lip. “The agreement was that I find Justin, and I help him and Eli get to New York, where Justin had two cousins. And I was prepared to do that, but I fell in love along the way, and I just couldn’t leave them, too.”

This is where it gets tricky, where the story gets hard to explain, and Stiles has to pause. Derek is looking at him, a dark, sad look in his eyes.

“I guess I realized what I was missing, all that time on the run, floating from town to town. I don’t know. I just know that from the moment I looked into Eli’s eyes, I loved him, and he meant everything to me. I remember thinking, ‘I would kill for this child, I would die for him, I’d go back to my old asshole alpha and beg on my hands and knees if it meant that Eli would be happy, and healthy, and loved.’”

Stiles pulls on his wedding band until it’s off his finger, and he says, “At first, the whole relationship thing was a front. Justin asked me to help him raise Eli, and it’d be weird for two platonic bros to live together and raise a baby, so we got in the habit of telling people we were dating. And then it became real, in a way. I genuinely loved him, cared about him, and I think he cared about me, but we were never in love. Not in the real way. Justin always loved Elizabeth, always missed the girl he couldn’t have, and I never stopped loving you.”

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, and Derek’s own eyes widen. He gapes at Stiles, and looks down at the ring in Stiles hand.

“When Eli was one, I officially adopted him. Then Justin and I got married, and we centered our lives around Eli. We tried to be a normal family for him. I made dinner every night. Justin took out the trash. We slept in the same bed. We had sex. We just didn’t love each other. Everything was set up to try to bring normalcy to Eli’s life.”

Stiles sighs, and he rubs Eli’s face. “Then our neighbor murdered Justin, and everything went upside down. I lost my best friend because some psycho decided he was a monster that needed to be put down. And do you know what the shitty thing is? Justin could have taken her. He could have fought back, but he was too sweet and gentle to purposely hurt her. I think that’s why he kept me around. He was too afraid to kill, but he knew I wasn’t.”

Stiles looks at Scott, and he says, “How can someone who’s known me for only a few years, someone so against killing, so against hurting people, someone who’s seen what Justin saw and still be so kind. How can someone like that love me, but my so called best friend, the person I’ve known since kindergarten, turns away?”

Scott looks down. “I don’t know,” he answers.

“You don’t know?” Stiles asks in disbelief. He tries not to raise his voice, he doesn’t want to wake Eli, but what Scott had just said was so ridiculous.

“I don’t know why I did it, Stiles,” Scott says, and he shakes his head. “There’s a million reasons I could think of, but I don’t think you’d believe any of them. All I know was that I was full of myself in high school. I got these super cool powers and I thought that made me super cool, but really it just made me a shitty person. And it took you leaving for me to get knocked off my pedestal, and I’ve hated myself ever since. I love you, Stiles. I really do. And I always have.”

Stiles knows that everything isn’t magically better. He still isn’t fine, after all these years, after everything Scott has done, but he feels lighter.

“What happened to us?” Stiles asks, and Scott shakes his head. 

“Somehow, somewhere along the way, we all got lost,” Scott answers.


	16. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I don't even know why this took me so long. I'm so sorry.

_It happens by accident. Somewhere on the road between South Carolina and New York, Stiles gets a little too drunk. Too many shot bottles from the mini-fridge, one too many whiskey on the rocks at dinner, and Stiles is smashed. Justin ends up carrying him and Eli into their hotel room, with Stiles breathing heavily in his ear._

_Justin drops Stiles onto one bed, and tucks Eli into the other, running a hand along the baby’s face, as Stiles flails and moans and mumbles. He isn’t thinking all that clearly. His mind is buzzing. There are too many emotions._

_Stiles used to be a happy drunk, back when there was actually happiness in his life. Back before shit got real, when he was young and stupid and only had to worry about whether or not Lydia would go to prom with him._

_Stiles isn’t a happy drunk anymore. Stiles isn’t even a happy_ person _anymore. There’s a line, where Stiles goes from buzz to complete depression, and he’s crossed it._

_He lays flat on his back, and he looks up at the white ceiling. This is the nicest hotel they’ve stayed in. It actually costs more than fifty dollars a night, and Stiles hasn’t seen a rat yet. It’s probably the nicest place Stiles has been since he left Eloise. He pulls the soft, plush sheets around his body, and watches the way the light dances above him._

_He feels a drop in the bed next to him, and he turns until he’s looking at Justin, who is looking at_ him. _There’s a kind of friendly -slash- fatherly judgement in his eyes, and he frowns softly._

_“What?” Stiles slurs, and then runs a hand over his forehead._

_“Why are you so upset?” Justin asks, his voice low and comforting._

_Stiles sighs, and he says, “It’s not you,” but that sounds wrong. It is and it isn’t Justin. It’s his whole life. His whole situation._

_Justin smiles, and he drags his fingers across Stiles’ cheek, just like he had done to Eli. Stiles misses physical contact. He misses being in love, being loved, being wanted for more than just protection. He leans into Justin’s hand, and Justin scoots closer._

_They’ve never done anything like this. They’ve never touched, or kissed, and been anything other than friends, and Justin leans forward, and Stiles tilts his head up._

_It’s just a kiss. And in terms of kisses, it’s not all that great. Stiles tastes like alcohol, and it’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but Stiles can feel something in his stomach. Something warm and familiar and happy._

_Stiles would go further. Stiles would give all of himself to Justin right then and there, but Justin isn’t the type, and Eli is sleeping only a few feet from them, and Stiles settles for burrowing himself against Justin’s side._

_Justin holds him, and he kisses the top of Stiles’ head, and he says, “I want you, Stiles.”_

_Stiles never figures out how Justin knew exactly what Stiles wanted to hear. It doesn’t really matter. Because Justin is there. Justin chooses him._

?

Stiles should sleep. He’s exhausted, and dizzy, and in pain, but instead he pours himself his sixth cup of coffee. It’s been two hours since the Tesi pack left, but Stiles is still on edge.

He paces the length of the Hale house kitchen, looking at the sets of fine china displayed in the cabinets, eyeballing the fresh fruit on the counters. The kitchen in beautiful, all clean and orderly and smelling like lemons. It’s nothing like his kitchen, which is dusty and smeared with food, with crayon drawings on the refrigerator (and walls) and mix-matched plastic plates. His home had been nothing like this.

Stiles hears Cora and Derek talking, too low for him to make out the words. He’s too tired to care. Cora had come in an hour after Stiles had broken down, taking his place next to Eli on the couch so Stiles could go to the kitchen. They had ordered him to find something to eat, and Stiles has been here ever since, drinking coffee and walking back and forth, thinking about his life in Massachusetts, and his life now.

On his walk back across the kitchen, the door swings open, and Derek pokes his head in, staring at Stiles with narrowed eyes. Stiles tenses, and he looks back at Derek in a panic.

“Have you only drunk coffee the whole hour you’ve been in here?” Derek asks, his tone suspicious. Stiles looks down at the cup in his hand, and at the almost empty pot on the counter, and swallows.

“Coffee is my favorite food group,” He says weakly.

Derek rolls his eyes, and he pushes his way fully into the kitchen. He walks to the large, stainless steel fridge, industrial sized, Stiles guess, and starts pulling out sandwich meats and cheese.

“You don’t have to feed me,” Stiles says, relaxing as he leans up against the counter. He winces as his ribs come in contact with the countertops, but readjusts so that it no longer hurts. Derek eyes him and frowns.

“I will force this sandwich down your throat if I have to,” Derek threatens, but Stiles just smiles weakly.

“Funny, I remember a time when you were threatening me with death. Now you’re threatening me with life. I think that’s character development,” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows, “Derek, are you an adult now?”

Derek doesn’t look at Stiles, and he doesn’t say anything as he throws together a sandwich. Somehow Derek remembers how Stiles used to eat them, with all the right vegetables and butter and pepper jack cheese. It makes his heart ache.

Derek hands him a plate, and he doesn’t look at him as he says, “I’ve always been an adult.” There’s a pause, but Stiles stays quiet, because he knows there’s something else Derek wants to say. It takes a few awkward seconds, but then Derek says, “I guess you are now, too.”

Stiles laughs, and he runs a hand across the back of his neck. “I guess that’s what having a kid does to you.”

Derek says, “yeah,” like he knows what Stiles means.

Stiles bites into the sandwich, more so to get Derek off his back than because he’s actually hungry. Derek quirks a corner of his mouth into a proud smile and something warm bursts in his chest.

Stiles breathes in, and he says, “how come you never got married?”

Derek opens his mouth, but Stiles can sense the cheesy bullshit he’s preparing to say, so he cuts him off, “I swear to God if anything you say revolves around you missing me, I will stab you with a knife.”

Derek pauses, and he closes his mouth for a moment. Then he says, “I just never found the right person. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I tried. A lot.”

“I know, I heard about Cora’s doctor,” Stiles says.

Derek smirks. “Jealous?”

“Are you jealous of Justin?” Stiles asks, though he probably shouldn’t.

Derek looks surprised, but he shakes his head, “Do I wish I had gotten that life with you? Yeah. I wish we could’ve gotten married and settled down and had kids, and I know I’m the one who missed that chance, but seeing you now, Stiles. I think he’s what you needed.”

Stiles looks away, trying to let _that_ sink in. He never thought about things that way. He always looked back on his past bitterly, angrily. He never thought about it being what he needed. That he needed to be alone for a while, and he needed to find Eloise, and then Justin, and then Eli.

“I guess you’re right,” Stiles says, quietly.

Derek grabs Stiles’ shoulder and gives him a shake, firm and paternal. “You look good Stiles,” He says, and it isn’t romantic or suggestive. Stiles looks older, more mature. He somewhat has his shit together.

For some reason, the compliment makes him sad.

?

_Salena Tesi is a force. She’s a natural disaster that Stiles was not prepared for. She waltzes into their hotel room on their second night in Massachusetts, and suddenly the whole room smells like lilacs and strawberries. Her presence attracts all the light in the room, and she stands in front of them, her honey-brown eyes taking them in._

_She smiles like an angel, and her soft, blond curls bob up and down as she extends a hand out to Justin, then to Stiles, and then to Eli’s small, chubby fist. She says, “I’m so sorry to intrude.” And Stiles looks over at Justin, because he had told him many things about the Tesi pack, but he forgot to mention that their alpha is an actual saint._

_“It’s no problem at all,” Justin says, and he matches her smile. Stiles might die. There’s too much_ good _in this room._

_There are two other betas behind her, but they aren’t nearly as stunning as their alpha. She draws all the attention. Stiles almost doesn’t notice how they enter the room, how the betas edge around them like a puddle, spilling into their personal space. But Stiles notices, and Justin tenses slightly._

_“Don’t mind Scout and Hunter,” Salena says, waving her hand flippantly at the young girl and man who have taken post at the door and window. Scout is young, with two long braids around her face, and the same brown eyes as her alpha. Hunter is bigger, his shoulders taking up the whole door frame, his mouth set in a straight line._

_Salena steps forward, and again, she draws all the attention. Scout and Hunter are almost nothing more than shapes in the corner of their eyes, but Stile focuses his mind to watch them._

_“I have to tell you how sorry I am to hear about your family, Justin. I knew your mother, she was a good woman. And when I think about all your brothers and sisters, your fiancée, it’s an incredible tragedy. I assure you we are in contact with Chris Argent, to make sure those responsible are punished.” Her eyes are watery, and her face is open and sympathetic._

_Justin clears his throat, and he mumbles a “Thank you.” He hugs Eli closer to his side, and Salena’s eyes track the movement._

_“I can’t imagine what this must be like. I can’t imagine losing almost your whole family, but then have a new one start to grow. Your son is a miracle born from sadness, Justin,” She steps even closer, and she touches Eli’s face. He smiles at her, and his eyes are wide and bright and happy, “raising a child, raising a pack. It’s hard enough for an alpha to do. It’s nearly impossible for a beta.”_

_Justin turns until Eli is just out of her grasp, and he says, “It’s been done.”_

_She turns to Stiles now, and she looks him up and down, slowly. “The McCall pack,” she mumbles, and Stiles tenses, “but their alpha is a true alpha. He was always stronger than a beta, was always supposed to have a pack of his own. That’s a different situation completely.”_

_“There’s been others,” Justin says again, “the Hales, the Santiagos, the-”_

_“Those situations were different, Justin. They were special circumstances. And none of them involved a child so young. We gave Cora Hale away, because we knew her older siblings would ruin her, and she was seven.”_

_Stiles looks up at that, narrowing his eyes. He had never heard that before. Cora always said family friends had helped her, but were they really helping?_

_“Cora found her way back to her family,” Stiles says, and Salena looks at him, quiet for a moment. “And she got tore to shit getting there. Seems to me like_ you _ruined her.”_

_Justin grabs his wrist, and he yanks Stiles close as one of the wolves begins to growl, but Salena laughs._

_“I can’t say that every decision this pack has made has been the right one,” She says, shaking her hand to call off her wolves. “But most of them have. We’re the peace keepers, emissary. It’d be best to stay on our good side.”_

_“What do we need to do?” Justin asks, rolling over like a good dog. Stiles grumbles, but she slinks closer. Stiles can see her imperfections now, shocking on her pale skin. There’s a scar under her chin, a chip in her tooth._

_She watches them for a while, before she smiles. “I can’t say I enjoy destroying families,” she says, and she stares at Eli, “he looks healthy… happy, even. I think we can work something out.”_

_Stiles doesn’t feel at ease. His tension doesn’t leave his body, even after she works out plans with Justin, and even after she leaves. Stiles doesn’t know when he’s ever going to feel at ease again._

?

After he eats, Stiles crashes, hard. One second he’s next to Derek, and then he’s falling, and he thinks that maybe Derek’s drugged him.

Maybe this was all a lie. Maybe he trusted them, and they’re going to give him up. He wonders if he’ll ever see Eli again. He wonders if he’s dying.

He wakes up in Derek’s bedroom. Eli is curled next to him, breathing softly, clutching onto a stuffed bunny that isn’t his. His head is throbbing, and the world spins when he tries to sit up. He groans.

He hopes he’s not dead, because that means hell is too much like his real life.

The door opens, and in slinks Cora Hale, a beautiful angel. He knows instantly that he’s not in hell. There’s no way Cora would be here if he was.

She sits next to him, the light from the hallway shining on her face. She’s smiling. “Derek says you passed out,” she whispers, and Stiles blinks.

“I guess so,” he says, running a hand over his eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cora says, “Eli woke up a few hours ago. I gave him the bunny to calm him down. He seems like he likes it.”

Stiles looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Yeah, he does.”

Cora leans forward and hugs him. It’s unexpected, and Stiles tenses, but she clings to him. She whispers “I’m so sorry,” over and over, and Stiles starts repeating it back.

“The Tesi pack aren’t good people,” Stiles says, and he wants to tell Cora everything. He wants to tell her about what they did to her, and what they tried to do to Eli, but he can’t find the words. 

“I know,” Cora says, “I’m so sorry.”

 


End file.
